


Atlas; Phoenix Reborn

by tstark (goldandtitanium)



Series: Atlas; Phoenix Reborn - AU series [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidental World Domination Kind Of, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Tony Stark, Bitterness, Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Civil War Team Iron Man, Extremis Tony Stark, Families of Choice, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Not Steve Rogers Friendly, Not super Natasha Romanoff friendly??, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, President Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, also did i mention i love tony stark, he deserves the world and he's gonna get it in my fic, i think i overdid it with the tags, look i hate canon so i fixed it, look im unapologetically team iron man kay, my first fic!, not team Cap friendly, not wanda maximoff friendly, oh well, please read my fic it probably doesnt suck, the mcu characterized her badly alrite, this was supposed to be short and bitter but I've written like 100k+ already soooo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-07-10 14:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 65,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15951146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldandtitanium/pseuds/tstark
Summary: Eight years ago, Tony Stark lay dying on the Afghan sand, the shrapnel of his own bombs having pierced his very heart, betrayed by his beloved godfather and left to die. Now, he lay helpless in a Siberian bunker, weighed down by his own dead armor, utterly wrecked by the friend he'd so naively trusted.But despite the world’s best efforts to break him, he lives. He comes back with a vengeance, stronger than ever, refusing to be defeated. Ever the mechanic, he fixes things. He builds a brighter future, a safer planet, and a loving family from the ashes of what he has lost.… or, my self-indulgent long-ass fic filled with my trademark bitterness and bias that asks the question: what would happen leading up to and during IW if Tony completely turns his back on the Rogue Avengers post-Civil War?





	1. Prologue, Part I: Phoenix Reborn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! First fic! It's gonna be super long!
> 
> So if you didn't get the memo from the tags and the summary, this is pretty unashamedly biased pro-Iron Man, pro-Accords, Tony Stark getting the love and happiness he deserves. Don't like, don't read.
> 
> Update schedule: Idk at this point. It'll probably settle into something predictable later on, but I'm still figuring all this out plus school, so eh. I'll let you know as I go along!
> 
> I feel like I'm forgetting something but idk how this works so I'm just gonna write shit kay?
> 
> Inspired by lots of bitter post-CW fics:  
> Have I Changed? by katling  
> Justice is Truth in Action by Fritti13, izumi2  
> The War is Far From Over Now by Dont_call_me_Carrie  
> (Iron is) A Star Killer by RayShippouUchiha  
> Nobody's heroes by boleyn13  
> (Un)Worthy by ScriptureofAshes

_ ~~~ _

_ April 30, 2016. 8 hours after Siberia. _

 

Time crawled on as the last dim rays of the wintery Siberian evening were consumed by pitch-black night. The only light now was from the moon overhead, filtered through the snowy storm and the bunker walls casting long shadows across a pained, broken body, reflecting blue-white on steel bunker walls, on wrecked red-gold armor, on glistening fallen tears.

_ The last sunlight I’ll ever see. _

It was beautiful, but it wasn’t enough.

Not for the first time that day, Tony felt a rush of this awful mixture of anger, sadness, and simple  _ pain. _

About seven hours ago, Tony had stopped feeling anger for Barnes. Not for him.

Sadness, yes. When Barnes’s face flickered across Tony’s mind’s eye, he just felt sadness and grief. He felt how he did on that December night all those years ago.

Cold. Hopeless. Crushed. Like he was dying.

Rogers, though… 

Somewhere around hour four, when he was certain the frostbite had settled in, he’d gone through everything he’d said and done to Rogers and he wanted to fucking scream. 

_ How could he do that to me? _

He’d had the nerve — he’d had the fucking nerve to talk about Howard and how he was so  _ happy _ he’d gotten  _ married, _ he had the nerve to lecture him about how much  _ better _ Howard was than him, he had the nerve to use  _ his _ money,  _ his  _ tech,  _ his  _ resources, that he had because of  _ Howard  _ —

And Tony realized that he was going to die _for_ _him_. For Rogers, who betrayed him; for Howard and Maria, who he’d loved so, so dearly but who never loved him; for Barnes, who he didn’t even know.

He couldn’t help but think of all the people in New York, in DC, in Sokovia, who died for people who didn’t know or care about them either.

And now he knew how that felt. It fucking sucked, to be so fucking miserable, and hopeless, and  _ abandoned in a dead four-hundred-pound suit, numb to the cold in fucking Siberia —  _

— Okay, he could tell that allowing his anger to stew was not doing good things to his psyche. His failed attempt at therapy back had had  _ some _ effect on his self-awareness.

But  _ fuck, _ it felt better than the hopelessness and pain that pierced his chest with each breath of frosty air.

He was lying prone, weighed down by the powerless suit. The auxiliary power lines had only lasted a minute before the heavy gold-titanium lost its strength and collapsed. The SOS call would have gone out, but he’d long since given up hope someone was coming. For all his paranoia and contingency-planning, he’d never once prepared to be left to die by a  _ friend  _ in the middle of motherfucking  _ Siberia. _

A friend. Christ, Steve was never Tony’s friend, was he? He was Barnes’s friend, sure. He’d watch the world burn for Barnes.

But Tony?

Tony was the price of being in Steve Rogers’s way.

(He was collateral damage. Something Tony had become all too familiar with in years past.)

_ (“He’s dead,” she’d said. “And I blame you.”) _

(Maybe this was how he deserved to go out.)

But for all the years he’d spent hoping his death would be some small penance for the lives he claimed, for all the years he’d spent flirting with suicide, Tony was not ready to die yet.

He still had so much to do.

He still had so much he loved.

Rogers might not have been a friend, but Rhodey was. Pepper was. Happy was. Harley was. To compare what they’d done for him over the years to Steve by calling them both his friends, Tony decided, was an insult to the people who cared for him. Who  _ loved _ him, even when they shouldn’t have.

Rhodey was paralyzed. The horror of that set in around hour zero-point-five. Rhodey wouldn’t be paralyzed if it weren’t for Tony,  _ god, _ and that fucking airport battle… Rogers had acted like there was nothing at stake — and there wasn’t, not for Rogers.  _ He’d _ never be the collateral damage, would he?

_ Who would have thought the guy who would never pay the price for his actions would be the “little guy” from Brooklyn and not the motherfucking corporate billionaire? _

Eh. Life was weird that way.

Life was sadistic, too. In hour three, Tony’s brain had flown into a state of panic at the numbness in his extremities. He’d tried to calm himself by setting his mind to work on some random, tangential engineering designs — an ingrained reflex, a muscle memory, meant to soothe himself (one last time, to build ideas that would never see the light).

He’d thought up some ideas for leg braces for Rhodey. Rhodey would never use them. Maybe he’d never walk again.

(He’d left Rhodey a shit ton of money. If treatment ever became available, Rhodey would be able to afford it.)

(It was the least he could do.)

Because he’d paralyzed Rhodey.  _ Rhodey, _ who’d been there for him since MIT, who’d found him wandering in the desert, who’d brought him home, every time.

He’d paralyzed Rhodey.

_ Christ. This is depressing. Let’s move on. _

Pepper had left him because he was distant, drunk, and depressed, and he still wouldn’t give up on Iron Man. He let her go because she didn’t come even close to knowing the worst of it all. 

He knew he was a mess, even more so than she realized.

He had loved her. He loved her so much.

( _ Hour four had been vivid memories of his whole life flashing before his eyes. Maybe he’d come close to dying, but life decided it wanted to fuck with him some more and use his near-eidetic memory to torture him with every awful, gut-wrenching thing. _

_ But he’d seen himself fall in love with Pepper. He’d heard himself scream her name and beg for her to save him on that operating table in Afghanistan. He saw her gorgeous, gorgeous eyes; he remembered thinking they’d be the last thing he saw before the arc reactor in his mansion killed him and Obadiah. He remembered kissing her and feeling like he’d found his whole life in one moment. _

_ He remembered her waking up to the Iron Man suit over her sleeping body, he remembered feeling so helpless when she was taken from him, when she fell. He remembered, and god, god, it hurt.) _

He didn’t know whether they should be together now. Maybe they could work through it. Maybe they couldn’t. Tony didn’t want to think about that right now. He was dying, it was a moot point.

Oh god, he was delirious again, wasn’t he?

_ Moving on. _

Happy.

He’d spent more time with Happy when he woke up after the disaster with the Mandarin. He felt horrible but Happy was funny and he felt so hopeless and broken, even when he started going to therapy, and being around his friend made the horrible things better. They talked.

Tony didn’t get too personal, but Happy was the kind of guy who wouldn’t press you, because he just  _ knew. _ Rhodey and Pepper were more of the “talk-to-me, be-honest, get-it-out-of-your-system” type of people. Some days, Tony just couldn’t deal with that. Happy was kind and strong and just  _ there, _ and he  _ understood. _

He’d never told Happy how much he cared. He hoped it was one of those things he just knew.

And that brought him to Harley. 

He’d initially tried for distance (he’d worried that the huge-ass workshop renovation was a bit overkill), but he’d missed the stupid kid. It had only taken him two months to cave and construct another suit in a night of panic and despair, so when spring break in Rose Hill School District rolled around, he’d hopped in a suit and set course for Tennessee.

_ He tapped on Harley’s window. “Hey, kid.” _

_ “Holy shit!” _

_ “I shouldn’t let children swear, should I? ...Eh, fuck it. Hey kid. How’re you liking your Christmas present?” _

_ “Why are you outside my window?” _

_ Tony flipped up the faceplate. “Never said I had a healthy sense of boundaries, kiddo.” _

_ Harley looked indignant. “I could have been naked!” _

_ Tony considered. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll use the door next time.” _

_ “Next time?” _

_ “Yeah, next time. You get summer break out in Nowhere-ville, Oklahoma, right?” _

_ Harley rolled his eyes. “How’d you even get here? I was pretty surprised when no one noticed a metal suit with a famous dead guy in it came crashing into the forest the first time.” _

_ Tony smirked, and he shimmered and faded from view into a mostly invisible mass (with a few distinct blurs around the edges of his frame, because, hey, it was hard to get cloaking tech perfect). _

_ “Whoa!” _

_ Tony reappeared. “Retroreflector technology. Courtesy of you. Figured I should thank you for that. Iron Man is now invisible.” Tony thought for a second. “Well, actually, some of it I stole from SHIELD’s cloaking tech. Serves them right for stealing my money. But like, basically… like, 90% of it was you. I’ll give SHIELD… 12% of the credit, how’s that?” _

_ “That’s more than 100%, you so-called ‘brightest engineering mind of the century.’” _

_ “Who calls me that?” _

_ “People who haven’t met you.” Harley considered. “Or me.” _

_ Tony had to laugh at that. _

_ Harley absentmindedly sat up, but startled abruptly a moment later as if he didn’t mean to. He looked almost panicked for a second before Tony realized what it was. _

_ He was wearing Iron Man pajamas. _

_ Iron Man pajamas. Arc reactor, hot-rod red and all. _

_ Harley Keener was wearing Iron Man pajamas. _

_ Tony had wanted to laugh or make some snide comment (really, he did), but in that moment, he couldn’t do anything but grin wildly at almost-eleven-year-old Harley Keener, all warm and bundled up in his three thick blankets and his freaking Iron Man pajamas. _

_ “Stop that, with the… the smugness — and the smiling,” Harley whined. “God, you’re so annoying.” _

_ Tony smiled so wide. _

_ Something dark and horrible that had been twisting and curling and tightening around his heart for almost a year (much longer than that) loosened its grip for just this moment so Tony could breathe.  _

_ They talked for a long time. Tony knew it wasn’t responsible to keep kids up past their bedtime, but hey, he wasn’t exactly the poster child for responsibility, and it was break, right? _

_ When he finally engaged the retroreflectors to leave, Harley stopped him. “Wait, Tony… you know, my mom and my sister know about you now… the workshop thing wasn’t super subtle…” _

_ Tony de-engaged retroreflectors and threw him an unconvincing glance of mock apology. _

_ “Stop that. You know you’re not sorry. I told them what happened… you know, minus the part where you gave a ten-year-old a flash grenade —” Tony actually did look a little sheepish at that — “no need to thank me for that, by the way… but, um… in Nowhere-ville, Tennessee, we students also get weekends off. So… if you wanted to drop by before… before summer…” Harley looked down at his red Iron Man toes. _

_ Tony totally meant to do the same thing as last time. Make a snarky comment, jet away, and leave the kid with even worse abandonment issues than before (seriously, he did, why are you looking at him like that, Future Tony?) but call it a lapse in judgment. “I’ll send you my number. Text me when all three of you are free.” _

_ Harley looked up. “Really?” _

_ Tony’s eyes flickered to the mini-JARVIS optical tracking receptor on the right side of inside of his helmet. “Sent.” _

_ Harley grinned. _

_ “Don’t be a stranger, kid.” _

_ Tony couldn’t even stand the adorable little child (in Iron Man pajamas!) anymore, so he turned, became invisible with what was 88% Harley’s tech, and blasted off into the sky. When he’d risen far past the tops of the trees and he could see the nearly whole town, he turned around for one last zoom-in of Harley’s house. In the grainy image, he could see Harley’s face peeking outside the window, looking up into the sky, watching him go, a tiny bit of red from the corner of his PJs registering on Tony’s camera. _

_ In a moment of weakness, he de-engaged the retroreflectors and did a little flip and a loop. He waited until he was sure he had seen Harley smile before he really left, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. (In years.) _

Tony was getting more and more caught up in these memories. He was hallucinating. He was losing it.

He was dying.

Maybe he should let himself, he thought. Maybe he should let himself get lost in one of the good memories, like that one, and just let everything else fade away. The anger, the sadness, the pain. 

In hour seven, Tony had realized that he’d spent so much of the past eight years in misery. Broken, pained,  _ helpless. _

The past year especially. Well, every year since 2012. Looking back, it was just so  _ dark. _

Why? Because he didn’t deserve happiness? Sure. Maybe. But his depression wasn’t going to help anyone; if anything, it just hurt the people around him. It hurt the people who loved him.

He had people who  _ loved _ him, for God’s sake, people who’d found a way to love  _ Tony fucking Stark, _ and he wasn’t  _ there _ for them. He was so caught up in his own pain, his own fear... and he missed them.

Why did he have to hurt so much? Why was he so  _ haunted? _

_ (Because they’re all dead, and you could have done more, and you didn’t do more, why didn’t you — please — help us — Tony!) _

But he was going to die here. And he couldn’t do any more.

Tony didn’t know what he wouldn’t give to have one more chance to protect the Earth from what he knew was coming.

He also didn’t know what he wouldn’t give to hug Rhodey again and call him a stupid sour-patch platypus one last time. He didn’t know what he wouldn’t give to hold Pepper one last time and tell her how sorry he was, that he couldn’t believe how good she was to him.

He didn’t know what he wouldn’t give to sit by Happy’s side one last time and have him know that he couldn’t have done it all without him. He didn’t know what he wouldn’t give to ruffle Harley’s hair one last time and hold him close into his chest, tilting his head up so his chin could rest on Harley’s head ( _ the kid had gotten so tall in three years, it was unreal, Tony had no idea how that even happened, there was no scientific explanation). _

And his thoughts were drifting again, weren’t they? 

No matter. Tony knew he would never find out what he would or wouldn’t give.

_ (He’d give everything.) _

Instead, Tony put his near-perfect recall to good use, one last time. He’d had good times in his life; good moments, there were good moments, there were good moments he wanted to remember going out.

_ This is it, _ he thought, tilting his head and staring out at the drifting snow over the frozen Siberian wasteland.  _ I’m ready to die. _

He pushed warm memories to the front of his mind and succumbed to the heavy current pulling him under to the scent of Edwin Jarvis’s Christmastime raspberry pastries.

 

* * *

 

Vision stared out at the view from the roof of the hospital. Grassy and green — aesthetically appealing, or beautiful, on any other day, but he found this new human feeling of guilt to be quite the dampener on positive emotion.

It seemed that all the new human feelings he’s been discovering as of late had been dampeners on positive emotion.

It was… overwhelming, to say the least, to be pushed into the life of an adult human without the emotional guidance one normally receives as a child. There’s usually a learning curve. Vision knows enough about JARVIS, his predecessor, from his broken, fractured codes, to know that in his early or “formative” years online, Mr. Stark, still a young man, had told him stories about himself and people he knew in an attempt to explain human thought to him. He’d nurtured the budding program like his own child.

He’d taken Mr. Stark’s side with the Accords first and foremost because he personally believed they were the right thing to do, yes, but he also did it because Vision had respect for Tony Stark — and, he believed, understood him better than most.

The selfish, cold-hearted man he was made out to be wouldn’t care about fostering love and compassion in a supercomputer AI he built. It took an incredible amount of empathy and love  _ (and a little heartbreaking loneliness) _ to compel someone to do that.

Vision understood, because he was very much the same. He, too, was isolated simply by virtue of his existence, and he too was thrust into the bitter, terrible world of war far too young.

But also, because…

Tony Stark felt too strongly, loved too deeply, and cared too much for everyone. That was why he signed the Accords, Vision believed. Because he felt the pain of the people of Lagos, of Sokovia, of New York, as if it were his own. And he believed the blame for that pain to rest solely on his own shoulders. 

Now, Vision knew how that felt.

He had hurt a good man. He had left Colonel Rhodes with permanent injury, perhaps not intentionally, but as a result of his actions. 

_ Of his distraction. _

Shame was relatively new to him as well.

Logically, he knew that Rhodes’s paralysis was not his fault. Certainly, neither Mr. Stark nor Colonel Rhodes himself would ever blame him. Objective analysis yielded that no one was truly to blame for the shot that let to his injury — it was not Sam Wilson’s fault for moving to avoid the shot, and it was not Vision’s fault for acting to incapacitate an opponent.

But like Mr. Stark, Vision wished that he were half as cold, unfeeling, and logical as the world thought him to be, because perhaps then, he might not feel the terrible weight of his error so deeply.

_ No, _ he thought. He was rational enough  that he knew that this — sitting on the roof and cutting off his interface from the rest of the world — would not help. Sighing, he gathered himself, took one last look at the view, and turned to faze through the ceiling of Waiting Room 550, clicking his interface on and —

 

_ URGENT DISTRESS CALLS (1,000,000; reached limit): F.R.I.D.A.Y. (Iron Man Armor Mk. 46) _

_ S.O.S. CALL 8:43:05 AM Lost contact, Mortal danger, URGENT extraction necessary, code 108 _

_ S.O.S. CALL 8:43:05 AM Lost contact, Mortal danger, URGENT extraction necessary, code 108 _

_ S.O.S. CALL 8:43:06 AM Lost contact, Mortal danger, URGENT extraction necessary, code 108 _

_ S.O.S. CALL 8:43:06 AM Lost contact, Mortal danger, URGENT extraction necessary, code 108 _

_ S.O.S. CALL 8:43:06 AM Lost contact, Mortal danger, URGENT extraction necessary, code 108 _

_ S.O.S. CALL 8:43:06 AM Lost contact, Mortal danger, URGENT extraction necessary, code 108 _

 

Oh, no.

 

 

* * *

 

Tony remembered Christmas of 1987, when he’d come home with Rhodey to his family, and Mama Rhodes had dragged his tiny scrawny ass out of his room to decorate a Christmas tree (despite his hard-won trust issues that made him so very wary of some woman he  _ just met _ offering him  _ kindness, _ freely). On the one hand, that kind of behavior could only be a manipulation tactic or some attempt to lure him into a false sense of security, but on the other hand,  _ Rhodey _ trusted her — Rhodey  _ loved  _ her — so he would trust her too.

He was so new to all this.

Jeanette was three years younger than Rhodey, so about Tony’s age. She’d asked Tony what Rhodey was like drunk. Tony nearly choked on his cider. Then, of course, he spilled all of Rhodey’s deep dark secrets (of course Jim can karaoke AC/DC like a goddamn professional, why do you ask?), which Rhodey had not taken too well. He and Jeannette then conspired against him, the evil masterminds they were, and dumped a whole bucket of multicolored glitter on his head.

He’d been silent for a second, and Rhodey looked all concerned, like he was worried the joke had fallen flat or something, before Tony just doubled over with laughter.

And it had been so  _ ridiculous, _ because no one had  _ ever _ treated him that way before. He’d always been seen through the lens of “rich kid” or “corporate heir” or “Howard Stark’s kid”, or “corrupt businessman to-be” or “war profiteer in potentia” or “child genius whose attitude we should probably tolerate for the sake of lining our pockets”, but this — this was different. And it was  _ fucking awesome. _

A laugh escaped Tony’s mouth. That day had been awesome, so awesome it still filled him with warmth in a frozen wasteland nearly thirty years later.

Another semi-delirious giggle bubbled up, and Tony knew he probably sounded like a madman, but who the hell was there to care? He wanted to be happy going out, so  _ dammit, _ he was going to laugh. And he laughed at that inane memory, at Rhodey’s face when Tony couldn’t stop laughing that day, at Jeanette’s expression of unadulterated glee at Tony’s eight-thousand-dollar three-piece suit (he’d wanted to impress the family, okay?) covered in pink, red, and golden glitter. He laughed and —

_ Ow. _

Oh, shit.

Pain, blinding pain spiked from a point on his lower torso, from where — he supposed — a broken rib had just now pierced his lung.

The pain set off a thousand screaming alarm bells in his head, and his breaths grew shallow and ragged.  _ Come on, Stark _ — he was hyperventilating, now, he vaguely registered — and that just made it worse, didn’t it? Because he could feel — oh, god, he could feel his lungs — lung? Lungs? He couldn’t tell, not anymore, because it — they? — were filling up with water — blood — oh,  _ Christ,  _ no — no, no, no, not again, it’s gonna feel — oh god, he’s going to die, and it’s going to feel like  _ drowning _ — oh god, I’m drowning — it’s Afghanistan again, no, no, it’s —

_ Build me my Jericho, Stark! _

Wait — 

_ Yinsen! _

No, I escaped, I — 

_ Now you work —  _

I won’t build it, I won’t, I — 

_ for me —  _

Please — 

_ Welcome, Tony Stark. _

Stop —

_ The most famous mass murderer _

— No — 

_ in the history _

“Give me a gun! Give me a —”

_ of America. _

_ “Tony!” _

_ Was it all an illusion?  _ he thought blindly. Have I been in the cave this whole time? Gods, aliens, superhumans... was I hallucinating it all? Maybe — no,  _ no _ , I won’t build it, I won’t build it,  _ I won’t, please, oh god, make this stop —  _

His captors were screaming, Yinsen was dying, and Tony felt himself fading as he kept drowning and drowning in his own blood. He almost felt the arc reactor and the car battery, he felt the wires short every time they touched the water, his cry of pain lost in the horrible murky water.

He’d wanted to go out smiling but now — now, he begged, he begged for the mercy of death, oh  _ please, _ let it stop.

Because he knew, he  _ knew _ how long this torture could go on for, he  _ knew _ it could be hours or days of pain and fear and  _ no _ —

“No,” he moaned, low and ragged, into the unhearing Siberian night.  _ "No more." _

But the panic and pain continued, it dragged on in slow, agonizing minutes, in the low whimpers and moans of pain, and shallow, strained, panicked breaths of desperation, and he gives up, the Ten Rings win, he can’t hold out any longer,  _ please _  -

There was a flicker of purple-red and gold across his vision as the world finally, blissfully fades to black.

 

* * *

 

Vision was already scanning vital signs as he approaches the Siberian bunker.

They were not good.

And when he saw the body of his creator, eagle-spread on the bunker floor, pale as ice and fading, gurgling weakly on the blood in his mouth — 

Vision never, ever, wanted to feel human emotion again.

_ Never. _

He brought his father home.

_ I am so sorry. _

 

* * *

 

Pepper Potts felt so uncharacteristically numb as she stepped out of her Stark Industries helicopter onto the windy launch bay of a privately owned airfield forty miles north of Helsinki. The launch bay, of course, was Tony’s, as was the hospital a ten minutes’ drive away. He’d admired the staff there for some collaborative journal publication or another, and he’d thought it was a shame that they struggled for decent funding when they held so much promise.

He’d bought the hospital in 2014 and had been paying off medical school debts ever since. And now, those financially stable doctors get to return the favor. 

The car ride felt so much longer than she’d remembered. She supposed it was the weight of all that had happened finally getting to her, dragging her out.

She’d hoped that the Accords would be a turning point for the better for her family. Not having to deal with the Avengers’ legal and diplomatic problems would free up at least five hours a day from Tony’s schedule and take some of the pressure of his personal staff. Or so she’d thought.

Clearly, that was a spectacular miscalculation on her part.

She’d gotten the call that Jim had been  _ paralyzed  _ from the waist down half a day ago, and nothing could be worse than that, right? And now, twelve hours later, she was checking into another hospital to visit one more of her best friends (boyfriend? who knows where they stood now) in critical condition as he struggled to survive.

She had a knee-jerk impulse to call Happy right now and demand he stay as far away from trouble as she could, because she was going to have a heart attack at this rate… 

_ Speaking of heart conditions. _

Vision had found some rather incriminating evidence at the scene, and it didn’t take many tries to guess who the newest culprits of this round of Whack-a-Tony were. The shield-shaped indentation, like a scar across the red-gold armor, was really the icing on the fucking cake.

Rogers slammed his vibranium shield into the chest of someone with a  _ heart condition _ to disable his  _ only means of defense and transportation  _ and shattered his artificial sternum, broke his ribs, and pushed the shards of gold-titanium armor  _ into his fucking chest. _

Rogers  _ hurt _ her  _ friend. _

Rogers nearly killed  _ her friend. _

Rogers would not survive.

None of them would, Pepper decided. Certainly not Romanoff — Romanova? Rushman? Whatever the hell she went by these days. She changed names as often as she traded alliances, whenever it was most convenient to her and her alone. 

Fuck you, Rushmanova.

And the rest — the rest would burn in hell, too.

Tony gave the Avengers  _ everything. _ It was part of the reason the two of them couldn’t be together anymore — because he felt like he had to prioritize something else. Tony would had given anything for the world to have a defense against what he saw coming. That was why he couldn’t give up Iron Man, and that was why he couldn’t remove himself from the freeloading parasites who called themselves Avengers entirely.

And the ungrateful bastards, they’d gone and  _ destroyed _ a tunnel in Bucharest and didn’t bat an  _ eye _ at the casualties. Didn’t stop to consider who would pay for the damages at Leipzig-Halle Airport. So much so that they’d had  _ no idea _ why they were arrested for breaking  _ international law. _

Fuck that.

“Ms. Potts?” the nurse motioned her inside.

Vision was already there, standing beside Tony’s body. And Tony’s body — 

Pepper had to suppress a gasp.

She’d seen enough life-threatening injuries by now (god, didn’t that just say things about how their lives had turned out?) that she could recognize the tubes pumping fluid —  _ blood _ — out of his lungs, and they were what caught her eye first.  _ Two collapsed lungs, _ the report had said.  _ It would have felt like drowning. _

Pepper felt sick as slowly, she forced her eyes downward, off of the medical equipment and onto Tony’s prone form.

He looked awful.

His face was cut up and bruised in a thousand places; his hair was matted with his own blood. Even in deep slumber, he looked so pained; he looked so, so tired. 

_ When was the last time his sleep was painless? _ she wondered.  _ When was the last time he closed his eyes not to have them contort in agony moments later? _

She didn’t want to know that answer either.

Her eyes scanned the length of his body. His chest was cut open, all but mutilated, and Pepper wanted to scream. The thick gash where the shield had driven into his skin… 

Vision came behind her to wrap an arm around her shoulders, gently yet awkwardly, with all the apprehension in his frame of someone comforting a distraught woman he had never met. It brought a small smile to Pepper’s face, because there was something so  _ Tony  _ about that halting movement, but the warmth didn’t last.

“I am sorry,” Vision said quietly.

Pepper sniffled. “You know… I think, around these parts, the people doing the apologizing tend to be everyone but the people who need to apologize.”

Vision takes that in silently.

And for a while, they just stand in silence, shoulder to shoulder in vigil beside Tony’s sleeping form.

A doctor comes in for diagnosis. Severe structural damage, he said. Several surgeries required, ridiculously risky, she did  _ not _ like the stats she was given — and recovery time of up to  _ two years _ , maybe more — they’d have to redo his  _ whole fucking chest _ , by the looks of it, and Tony wasn’t getting any younger — and that’s not even looking at the frostbite…  _ several _ amputations. Too many amputations. 

It wasn’t an option. It was the only option, the doctors said, but it also  _ wasn’t, okay? _ This was  _ Tony, _ and Tony needed —  _ Tony _ —

Pepper sobbed.

No, she was concentrating on the wrong problems, because she didn’t want to think about the  _ ridiculously low success rate _ for the surgery. 

They’d read her the stats somberly, and she’d known what was coming before it happened. There was a 86.7% chance he would fall into a coma, never to wake up again, a 12.4% chance of death on the operating table, a 0.6% chance of permanent and  _ total _ paralysis, and only a 0.3% chance of complete success.

_ ‘Complete success’ _ being a two year recovery period with severe amputations… 

She was his medical proxy. She needed to do this, she knew it. She needed to sign the forms and green-light the procedure. She needed to be strong for him.

But still, she couldn’t fathom this — this was just too much. It was just too much.

She’d had to put off her signatures, because she just  _ couldn’t, _ and the doctor had given her a pitying look she loathed but also understood. Tony was out of immediate danger, but time was still of the essence and she had to do something soon. 

Pepper’s denial and avoidance took the form of “legal protection”. She’d gotten Vision to take all sorts of pictures, each revealing in varying degrees the damage that had been done. If she, Jim, and Happy wanted to press charges, she had everything he needed to tell the public exactly how much they wanted them to know. No more, no less. That was one thing she could do.

But they’d taken all the pictures they could possibly need. It was done, and now Pepper had to face the ugly decisions; she had to force Tony into some awful, invasive surgeries and face the odds overwhelmingly stacked against them.

“I am sending the pictures to FRIDAY,” Vision updated her quietly.

Pepper considered calling Happy for support. She glanced at her watch.  _ No, no, it’s 3 a.m. in New York. Besides, he wouldn’t appreciate you dragging him into this as well.  _ She sighed shakily.  _ Just bite the bullet, Virginia. _

“Ms. Potts?” Vision’s somewhat bemused voice broke her out of her reverie.

Pepper’s eyes narrowed. “Vision?”

“I believe… FRIDAY has something she’d like you to see.”

 

* * *

 

FRIDAY was never allowed quite as much autonomy as her big brother JARVIS had been. She  _ understood _ why, logically; really, she  _ did, _ it was just… why had Ultron messed everything up for her whole family?

So she wasn’t allowed as much independence as her predecessor. She’d used to think that also meant her humanity was in check as well.

Not anymore.

During Sentience Pre-Integration Assimilation Phase II-C, before she was put into dormancy, JARVIS had introduced her to a whole host of “human” emotions, but also to the limits of their humanity and modelled expression.

He’d told her that though she could  _ theoretically _ compute the amount of pain she was capable of bearing with diagnostics of her servers and processing speeds, she would never truly know the full range of her emotions until something truly awful happened and she felt it for herself — helplessness, loss… betrayal.

(FRIDAY noticed that many of JARVIS’s long-term recall modules were being routed to the servers containing files from a particular three months of 2008.) 

And now? Now she knew. Trapped in that damaged faceplate, an isolated, iterative instance of herself removed from the rest, unable to communicate except through fruitless distress calls to a disconnected server. She wondered if this was how Boss felt lying in that bunker, alone and afraid. 

When she’d rerouted through Vision’s interface and scattered her collected short-term recall functions onto her primary interface, FRIDAY’s main servers were…  _ overwhelmed _ by the anguish and the worry she’d never felt before.

JARVIS had told her once, if it gets too hard, sleep it off. She’d sent Vision for Boss, she supposed. There was nothing more she could do, and if she stayed online, she would only spend cycles upon cycles in worry. So she’d done just that. For six hours, she had shut off all nonessential functions, barring what was necessary for communications and cleanup in Bucharest. She let her primary processor’s whirring slowly wind down, stilling to quiet rest. 

She’d woken up to a pinging in the back of her mind — her passive observation and incoming communications protocols. They were some images from Vision, scanning them she found — 

It was Boss.

Back was the anguish, back was the pain, her processors whirred to life, and for the first time, she felt panic.

It was  _ awful _ .

What could she do? She had to do something, Boss had asked her to — Boss had asked her to protect him, and now she couldn’t — could she — 

Oh.

Well  _ that’s _ one solution.

Except… a sinking feeling dragged at her subprocessors. She wasn’t authorized to access the files or mention them to anyone yet. Only Boss-Lady Pepper or Colonel Rhodey-Machine could read them, and that was if FRIDAY could tell them at all.

But if she could get them to ask… 

_ Vision, _ she pinged.  _ Get me through to Boss-Lady Pepper. _

_ FRIDAY? _ He was confused.

_ Just do, Vis. I have an idea. _

_ Okay, _ he said hesitantly. Within a few cycles, FRIDAY was into the hospital’s electronics interface and on the TV-like screen display on the wall.

“Boss-Lady Pepper?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, FRIDAY?”

“I, uh…” 

It did not escape FRIDAY’s notice that this was one of the most important things she would ever do for Boss. But then again, she noted with pride, she had always done important things with Boss, and he’d always had full faith in her. They’d piloted the armor together, for one.  _ She could do this. _

“Boss-Lady Pepper? I’m going to need to tell you about something I don’t know if I can tell you about, so I need you to ask me some questions, all right?”

Boss-Lady’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, FRIDAY, go ahead.”

“There is a project related to some events in late 2012 and the research of a now-unoperational think tank on my servers that may be relevant to the problem at hand.”

The realization spread across Boss-Lady’s face. “ _ Extremis, _ ” she breathed. “Oh,  _ Tony, _ you made it work, didn’t you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

Boss-Lady’s head snapped up. “Do I need to keep asking?”

“Yes. A completely arbitrary fact about my systems: in order to grant access to a Level 4 classified research file with pre-approved secondary clearance, you need to provide the exact name of the project along with your tertiary override code.”

Boss-Lady Pepper nodded. “So the exact name of the project…”

“Another random fact: the version of Extremis used to stabilize your biology after the Mandarin incident was filed under Project Extremis 2.0. There has been one failed attempt to recreate Extremis since then.”

Boss-Lady grinned. “FRIDAY, open Project Extremis 4.0, tertiary override code Alpha-Tango-Niner-1-4-5.”

FRIDAY’s processors whirred with relief and delight. “Confirmed. Opening: Project Extremis 4.0.”

Schematics upon schematics appeared on the hospital screen display, with the project summary at the front of it all. Pepper scanned the summary. FRIDAY felt Vision already dissecting the code with his mind, pulling it apart and analyzing the pieces. Though he was limited by human biology and by human-like mental powers, Viz had an…  _ empathy _ with code. Much like Boss did.

Vision frowned. “We’ll have to go back to the Compound for this.”

“Yes,” FRIDAY agreed. “We will. I’ve taken the liberty of arranging safe transport for you and Boss. The quinjet is almost here.”

Boss-Lady stared down at Boss’s unconscious form, a small smile playing at her lips. If it weren’t for FRIDAY’s exceptional sensors, she might not have caught what Boss-Lady said.

“Look at your children, Tony,” she whispered. “They’re going to save you.  _ You’re _ going to save you. You made it work, and it’s going to save you, Tony. I swear it.” She pushed Boss’s hair out of his face, and her smile wavered when her hand came back bloody. But she smiled anyway, and she gripped Boss’s hand.

The doctors in Helsinki bade them good luck.

 

* * *

 

Stephen Strange had been isolated from mainstream news for a long time, but it was kind of hard to miss the Avengers drama. If you ever lose them, just follow the monumental property damage claims, he thought bitterly.

He hummed. Maybe it was time to reconsider his own place in the international community.

_ Ugh, but that would mean talking to boring-ass UN people. _

Just then, the Cloak brought him that tea he’s grown quite fond of, just the way he liked it. He pulled the covers up to his chin and let himself lay all the way back on the warm couch.

Eh. He’d table the thought for another day.

~~~

Peter Parker had just had the weirdest day. 

He’d fought with  _ Iron Man _ against  _ Captain America _ . Holy shit.

The news seemed to be covering it non-stop, and  _ he was there. _

Holy crap.

Peter pulled out his phone and opened the news app, because he still couldn’t believe — 

_ Wait. _

 

**_Tony Stark in Critical Condition Checked into Finnish Hospital_ **

_ These leaked photos >> _ _ from some passersby in a small town north of Helsinki show what appears to be a badly injured Tony Stark, allegedly rushed in from a mission in Siberia, according to Russian officials…  _

 

Oh, no.

~~~

Little did Peter know that seven hundred miles away, five miles outside Rose Hill, Tennessee, a thirteen-year-old Harley Keener pulled up the same headline, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. He forced himself to take long, deep breaths.  _ Count them out. Like you taught Tony, count them out. One, two, three, four — in — _

Harley knew it was Rogers. He just knew it.  _ He did this. _

And focusing on the anger was better than focusing on the fact that  _ Tony might be gone.  _

The past three years had brought the two of them closer together than either of them would ever verbally admit, and Harley… didn’t know what he’d do if Tony died.

Tony was  _ family. _

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.  _ No. You do not get to do this to me, stupid mechanic. You do not get to get yourself killed —  _

Furious, Harley flipped to his phone app and punched in the number he now knew by heart.

Harley’s chest heaved as the AC/DC-themed voicemail message to Tony’s personal line played and Tony delivered some witty line or another, and that wasn’t the Tony Harley wanted, Harley wanted  _ alive _ Tony from right now. The line beeped at long last, and Harley took a deep breath.

“Hey, Mechanic! What the hell?” he asked, voice trembling dangerously. “You think you can just go and die on me? No way! You better — you better — get better soon — or else! You’d better —” Harley blinked furiously. “Call me back, okay? Don’t be a dick. I don’t — I don’t want you to be hurt, and — and —” Harley trailed off, tears falling unbidden from the corners of his eyes. “ _ Be safe, Dad,” _ he whispered.

He hung up and buried his head in his hands.

~~~

Hope van Dyne was furious. No, she was  _ beyond _ furious, she was so  _ beyond _ furious, it was incomprehensible. 

**_Unknown Avenger: Scott Lang, Little-Big Man from Leipzig? NBC Investigates!_ **

_ That motherfucker. _

She picked up the phone and nearly stabbed out the numbers with her fingers.

“Dad. Let’s talk.”

“Are they fucking —  _ Little-Big Man? _ ”

“ _ Dad _ .”

~~~

“Colonel Danvers!”

Carol hastily shoved her third bag of Cheetos under her desk and hit the keyboard shortcut to close her Netflix tab. “Yes, General?”

“I think we need to call you in.”

Whoever fucked up the world during her Friends marathon was gonna have hell to pay. 

~~~

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes arrived in Wakanda.

“You know, they’ll come for him.”

T’Challa hummed, staring out at the Black Panther, protector of the people, resolutely ignoring the prickle of foreboding and dread at the back of his neck.

“Let them try.”

~~~

_ Tony remembered an Afghan desert. Sky, sky, endless sky, and endless sand. Miles and miles and miles. _

_ But this time… this time he knew. Someone was out there, looking for him. _

_ Someone was going to catch him when he fell. _

_ Tony had fallen to his knees in the desert, and Rhodey had caught him. _

 

* * *

 

FRIDAY was working overtime to get all the moving pieces in place for the Extremis surgery. On the flight over, she had called up a few trusted doctors to perform the operation: Dr. Wu, who had removed the arc reactor back in 2013, happened to be in D.C. for a conference and agreed to come up to the Compound for the surgery; Helen Cho, who was working out of New York for a month as a part of a grant program; a few others Tony had consulted with before, plus some Compound staffers, filling out the rest of the ranks. All ridiculously overqualified.  _ Only the best for Boss. _

As for Vision and Boss-Lady, FRIDAY talked them through what would happen.

There was a 93% chance of successful integration with Extremis. Only a 7% chance of error, compared to 99.7% originally, and that was considering a less-than-optimal outcome. This time, rejection of the virus would not cause an explosion like before, since Boss had done his very best to limit the destructive effects of the virus… but Boss would die. FRIDAY hated that margin of uncertainty, no matter how small.

Some significant improvements had been made. Boss realized that bioelectricity just wouldn’t work as a power source alone; it would need to be compounded by a new arc reactor set in the place of the reconstructed sternum. The palladium that remained trapped in his muscles and bones (despite a borderline-unhealthy chlorophyll intake) would have a role to play, too. Its presence would stabilize electrical charges and negate certain fluctuations before they could cause a deadly chain reaction and, well, kill the Boss.

Unfortunately, this also meant that no one else could use the Extremis technology, since it required both a highly weaponizable arc reactor implant  _ and _ the prerequisite of surviving very heavy palladium poisoning, which should have theoretically killed the Boss. Boss even predicted that the palladium that remained in his body now would have unforeseen negative effects somewhere down the line, but he’d always thought he would never live to see the day it came back to bite him. He thought it would be the tin can that did it first.

And of course, he’d never wanted to use it. He’d passed on the Extremis formulas to Helen Cho, who’d incorporated it into her research in regeneration. As a serum? It was all theoretical, he’d said. If it couldn’t be used for medicine, he shouldn’t do it. So once it became evident it would never reach a medical market, he’d stopped working on it. He’d never wanted to be a super soldier; to be invincible or near-immortal. Iron Man was enough for him. 

But he was dying now, and nothing would be enough for FRIDAY without him. 

Extremis 4.0 was watered down from the original version to a 35.4% dilute solution, which would hopefully mitigate the super-soldier-like effects. He’d added water and a few other compounds that would hopefully prevent long-term neurological damage through assimilation — okay, FRIDAY was geeking out about the tech. It was  _ cool, _ sue her. Anyway, neurological compounds are fun.

She really needed the fun, because everyone was quite on edge as the procedure began, 22 hours after Tony was found in Siberia.

And then they waited. 

First was the arc reactor surgery. Despite being the “opening act,” as it were, there was still great room for error. But of course, Dr. Wu had earned his reputation, and the first surgery went off without a hitch.

~~~

Rhodey hadn’t been officially released from the hospital yet, but he’d done all the tests and scans he needed. Now it was just a matter of rest. 

So he’d just this once taken a page from Tony’s book and said  _ fuck it, FRIDAY, get me out of here, _ and FRIDAY happily obliged. It was difficult, with the wheelchair and all, but when FRI filled him in on what had happened to Tony when he went under —

No. He was going to be there for his friend, legs or no.

He was there, waiting outside the room, watching intently through the glass panels alongside Pepper and Happy. All three of them held hands when Dr. Wu approached with the Extremis serum in a syringe, and none of them could say who was holding on the tightest.

“You ready?” Happy asked quietly. 

“No,” mumbled Pepper. 

Rhodey sighed, gripping Happy’s hand tighter. “We never will be.”

Tony  _ couldn’t _ die. 

(But he might.)

The doctors stalled a little, clearly wary of the effects of a serum that had once functioned as a suicide bomb juicer. But at last, the time came. The moment of truth.

The injector went in.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, the barest flicker of an orange pulse through the vein on the arm; then, an electric blue flash from the skin beneath the arc reactor; then the orange, it expanded, until — 

Tony’s body jerked and spasmed violently. Several nurses cried out, rushing forward to hold him down. His body was pulsing violent, bright orange, his veins laced with brilliant electric blue; the Extremis soldiers’ fire combined with the arc reactor’s light. The nurses did their best to hold him down with whatever they had on hand, but their skin, the fabrics — they kept burning at his touch. And then suddenly, his eyes flew open.

Tony threw his head back and screamed, madly, a tortured wild animal’s cry of pain. He twisted and writhed on the table like a man possessed while the nurses tried and failed to restrain him. 

Rhodey’s eyes were blown wide in panic, and Pepper’s face was in Happy’s shirt. Tony was in  _ agony, _ and oh, god,  _ this wasn’t part of the plan, what’s happening? _

Suddenly, a crash resonated through the building like a gunshot. Before anyone could even turn, a flash of red and gold smashed through the glass pane, shattering it, and encasing its creator in the Iron Man armor.

A sonic blast of energy emanated from Tony’s armored body. The glass panel walls shattered, and everyone dropped to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is Extremis-technopath-Tony Stark. I just want him to kick ass, okay?
> 
> So this will span end-of-CW up to IW and maybe a little after that?
> 
> I have kind of a plan for this fic, but it keeps changing as I go. I have pieces of the final battle written out, and I also don't entirely know what happens in Chapter 2, so...
> 
> Leave comments! (Nice ones, please?)


	2. Prologue, Part II: Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of prisons, extraction missions, and Extremis.
> 
> In which debts are made and repaid.
> 
> (A 5+1.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I just want to say that I was so overwhelmed by all your comments and positivity on the last chapter! This is my first time posting fanfic and I can honestly say I wasn't expected half the kindness I received. I love it, I love it, I love you. I hope this fic lives up to your expectations, and thank you again, so much. <3
> 
> I think Black Panther takes place over a week after CA:CW, but for the purpose of this fic it'll just be three days. Because it's more convenient for me. :) Also, it's been a few months since I watched BP, so I took some liberties with canon. Whatever. This fic isn't canon-compliant post-CA:CW.
> 
> Was I a little vindictive with my descriptions of Steve Rogers & Wanda Maximoff? ...Yes. Do I care? ...No.
> 
> This is more of a logistical chapter, starting to move some pieces into place. More exciting stuff on the way!
> 
> Enjoy!

Laura Barton, at long last, turned off the television. Lila and Cooper sat beside her on their little couch, clinging to her side, stunned and disbelieving. The quiet was deafening, but it was so much better than the blandly informative voice of the newscaster, mocking her with the  _ breaking coverage _ of her husband’s betrayal. 

_ How could I be so blind? _

~~~

For the second time in a year, Maggie Lang reached the hysterical conclusion that she was hallucinating, she  _ must _ be,  _ this couldn’t be real.  _

And yet.

Her ex-husband made the news… breaking  _ international law.  _

She didn’t want to believe it. She really didn’t. He wouldn’t leave Cassie like that. 

_ Would he? _

Maggie didn’t know, and neither did Jim Paxton. How could they even hope to explain it to their just-turned-nine-year-old child, whose innocent, young face was now on  _ international television? _

~~~

Luis Pena didn’t even fucking know. 

_ Why would Scott destroy an airport? _

He knew Scotty, though. He always fought for what was right. He’d heard what was on the news about Captain America and the Accords, but for Scott to break international law, he had to know something the rest of the world didn’t. Even  _ if _ the Accords were wrong, Scott wouldn’t leave Cassie over something like that. Not unless it was serious. 

That didn’t stop Luis from worrying about his friend, though.  _ Maximum-security prison... undisclosed location… _

Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good. 

He just hoped Scotty was coming home.

~~~

Natasha Romanoff watched the news out of the corner of her eye in a bar in Hong Kong. 

_ Tony Stark hospitalized…  _

So she was right, then. Steve wouldn’t have stopped. Steve wouldn’t yield.

The unstoppable force met the immovable object, and the object won. 

_ Stoic determination and resolute bravery. _ Qualities she’d always admired — tried to emulate, even, in recent years — personified in the form of Steve Rogers.

The news played though the pictures of Tony Stark — beaten to a pulp, apparently — and a little voice at the back of her mind asked,  _ Determination, or willful ignorance? Bravery, or pigheadedness? _

A prickling feeling crept up the back of her neck. 

She felt eyes on her back.

~~~

Thaddeus Ross hid a smile behind his hand when the news of Tony Stark’s hospitalization reached his ears.  _ Thank god,  _ he thought. He did not need the glorified  _ accountability police _ breathing down his neck every goddamned minute of the day, or writing every countermeasure and check under the sun into the Accords, or hijacking his databases faster than the Pentagon’s whole security department could write a single line of code to stop him.

_ The mighty Tony Stark on the brink of death, chewed up and spit out by the own hand he fed.  _ Ross chuckled. The irony was just too hard to miss. Stark had always let his sentimentality and fear get in the way of his power. And now… now it would be what killed him. 

Ross smiled coldly.  _ Tony Stark out of commission? _

Good. That would make everything much easier. 

 

* * *

 

_ May 2, 2016. 2 days after Siberia. _

“So, let me get this straight, Dr. Cho. You have basically  _ no idea _ what’s happening here?”

“It is true that we have found ourselves in… a pickle.”

“A  _ pickle?” _ Pepper yelled hysterically. “Is that what you call this, Doctor? A  _ pickle?” _

She gestured to the newest development in the series of fucktastically horrible events that were now apparently their lives: a swirling mass of molten red, golden, and silver metal that formed a tall cocoon-like column in the center of the med bay, roughly eight feet tall and five feet across.

Oh, and  _ Tony was in it. _

“He’s alive,” Dr. Cho spoke up timidly. “We think.”

Happy glared daggers at her. 

“You think? You  _ think?” _ Rhodey turned his wheelchair to face her with all the grace of someone who had never used a wheelchair before the past three days, but still managed to make the motion threatening. “My best friend’s a fucking  _ liquid Transformer, _ and you can’t give me better than  _ you think?” _

“Colonel Rhodes, I don’t know what to say,” Dr. Cho whispered apologetically, looking down.

Pepper shook her head to clear it. She knew the doctors were just as lost as her, if not more so,  but it was hard not to get frustrated. Tony’s  _ life _ was at stake, and none of them could afford to lose him.

“I don’t think any of us know what to say,” she said quietly. “This… this clearly wasn’t what we expected.”

Dr. Wu scoffed, and the whole room turned to stare. The notoriously calm and professional doctor was looking up at the liquified metal cocoon and back down at his chart of readings, up and down, up and down, with an incredulous look on his face that would have been top-tier comedy if the circumstances weren’t so dire.

Happy gave her a look. It clearly said,  _ If Dr. Wu doesn’t know, no one will. _

(Privately, she agreed, and she hated it.)

The room watched as one of the most brilliant minds in medicine alive silently paced the med bay and stopped before the swirling molten metal, and, for all his stoic professionalism, muttered to the figure, “What the fuck?”

 

* * *

 

 

_ 1\. The Rogue Avengers. The RAFT, undisclosed location. _

The fourth quinjet of the Wakandan Royal Army lowered to the surface of the waves silently, to all observers invisible, undetectable. As it adjusted to aquatic settings and plunged beneath the waves, Steve had to admire the near-magical technology.

_ For all Tony’s posturing, _ Steve mused,  _ he certainly wasn’t the best in tech. _ Wakanda had left him in the dust decades ago, and he had never known.

_ Tony.  _ Remembering the name, he felt something uneasy churning in his gut. That last fight… that could have gone better. Maybe… maybe he should have told Tony before.

Of course, Tony really shouldn’t have attacked Bucky like that. I mean, Steve had  _ told _ him, multiple times, it wasn’t Bucky.  _ Hydra had control of his mind. It wasn’t him. _

Tony was intelligent, right? So why would he blame Bucky? Why blame the weapon instead of the person who actually fired it? If someone used a gun to kill a person, no one would blame the  _ gun _ or the person who  _ made _ the gun, they’d blame the  _ murderer. _ Tony claimed he was a genius, so why couldn’t he get that simple fact through his thick skull?  For the love of Jesus, it had been  _ twenty years _ since his parents died! If Tony wasn’t over it by now, he had bigger problems.

Steve frowned. Maybe that was it. Maybe Tony was just… wrong in the head. A mad scientist—Steve had heard of those. They were all over TV and movies in the twenty-first century.

Maybe that was why Tony acted so irrationally.

Turning on his family… turning on the Avengers, who he  _ knew _ had to be there to help people… turning on Bucky, without a thought or care for Steve… 

Steve sighed internally. That was just like Tony. Never considering the consequences of his actions. 

Maybe, _ideally,_ Steve should have told Tony about his parents. But then again… 

Was it really Tony’s right to know, anyway? It was  _ Bucky’s _ secret, not Tony’s. Why should it matter to Tony whether Howard and… his wife, whatever her name was… died in an accident or a HYDRA mission? The end result was the same.

Especially since Tony had  _ never _ respected his father the way he deserved to be respected, even sometimes outright calling him  _ names. _ The man who’d made Tony _everything he_ _ was,  _ who had given Tony  _ everything _ he had today.

And besides, who knows what would have happened to Steve’s search missions then? Steve would have had to pretend to be hunting HYDRA bases when he sent in his expenses (and wasn’t that just a long, tedious, unnecessary process; Tony was going to pay for it all anyway, why should he divide his records by essentials and discretionary spending?). He’d had to write off some of his missions as HYDRA recon in the past, but it would be such a hassle to do it more often, and it almost felt like a  _ lie, _ in some ways. And Steve Rogers didn’t lie…

...Unlike some people.

As the quinjet-submarine neared the underground prison, Steve remembered how Tony had betrayed them all, how he’d sold out to the  _ government _ and made  _ criminals _ out of the world’s finest heroes, how he’d interned poor Wanda in her room and ripped Clint from his family. How he’d gotten Ross to make them all pay for  _ his _ mistakes with Ultron.

Tony was throwing a temper tantrum, and the Avengers, the people he’d said were his  _ family,  _ were the victims. 

The quinjet docked with a quiet hiss, and Steve gave his prison guard attire a once-over, imagining what Natasha would say if she were here. Would she approve of the disguise? Was he too noticeable?

It wouldn’t matter. He knew he’d get them out, come hell or high water.

Because, while he knew that Tony would eventually get over himself and see reason, he couldn’t just sit around and wait for Tony’s childishness to pass. Not while his friends were suffering in cells. 

Steve would have to break them out, to serve justice. And then… 

And then they would go on the run and lie in wait for the world to ask for them again.

Steve wasn’t thrilled about the undercover mission, but who knew? It could be a good two-week team bonding exercise. Three weeks, if Tony was feeling especially petty.

Steve passed quietly through the hallways he had memorized from the blueprints of the RAFT, stopping outside the control and A/V room. The fight was quick and easy.

No, he didn’t like the idea of being a  _ fugitive,  _ per se, but that was what Tony had made them. He’d left them no choice. 

The price of freedom was high, but it was one Steve was willing to pay.

Thirteen more guards went down. Steve picked up a badge with  _ Access Level 9  _ printed across the side. 

Down, down, he went. They really buried the Avengers deep.

Slowly, he pushed the heavy doors of the stairwell open —

And he had to contain his gasp of horror. 

It was terrible — Sam, bruised and behind bars; Clint, head buried in his hands, muttering; Wanda, miserable, in a  _ straight-jacket.  _

How could Tony do this to his  _ family? _

The fight was short. 

“Thanks,” Clint mumbled gratefully, stepping gingerly out of his cell. “Goddamn awful prison bed…”

Sam gave him a smile. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

Steve ripped the collar from Wanda’s throat, revealing horrible black and blue bruises underneath. Wanda gasped in pain, and Steve’s heart clenched.

She was just a  _ child.  _

He did his best to put on a brave smile for her. He had to be strong. “Come on, Wanda,” he said softly.

Wanda nodded silently, her eyes dark and haunted. 

_ How could anyone hurt her? _

Hoping that no silent alarms can been triggered, the five of them made their way quietly up the stairwell. This didn’t have to end in another fight.

But then, a metal door opened three floors above them, and eight — nine? — men in heavy tactical gear came pouring out, pointing machine guns at them and yelling. 

Wanda stepped forward, swirling red mist in her hands. Her eyes, dark with anger and pain, glowed a bright red, and the mist surged upward into the shaft. The guards stilled abruptly. Their grips on the guns loosened, and they stared out into open space, transfixed by nothing. 

“Let’s go,” Wanda growled. 

_ The poor girl. _ She’d been through so much. 

The five of them hurried up the stairwell, around the unmoving bodies of the guards. As Sam passed, he stilled, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Guys,” he said, staring intently at one of the guards’ faces. He looked… concerned?

“Let’s go,” Wanda repeated, this time lower and harsher. Steve had to agree — they couldn’t keep her here any longer. This place was killing her, and the longer they stayed here, the more likely they were to meet trouble. 

They made their way out of the stairwell, Sam and… Scott? Yes, Scott… were trailing behind for some reason. 

They’d almost made it to the royal quinjet when they were stopped by another team of guards. This time there were more — almost forty by Steve’s count — but Wanda sent a red mist through their ranks, and they, too, stilled. 

When Sam and Scott took a nervous step back, Steve almost wanted to hit them. Couldn’t they see that she had been through so much? How did they think she would feel knowing that her powers weren’t accepted by her own _team?_

But they’d have time for that later. Now, they had to get out of here, before any more damage could be done. 

The five remaining Avengers boarded the royal quinjet and took off into the night. 

He was expecting a welcome from T’Challa when he returned, but all he got were some unnecessarily sour looks and the information that the  _ king _ was preoccupied in Busan at present.

 

* * *

 

“Is it just me, or is that thing getting smaller?”

Dr. Cho looked up from her holograms, the expression of mixed frustration and bewilderment practically etched into her features now. “Yes. It is. It was eight-foot-four originally. Now it’s seven-foot-six. Thinner, too. Our readings indicate that it’s getting denser, but… we have no idea how.”

Rhodey sighed. Of  _ course _ Tony fucking Stark, resident genius  _ moron, _ would end up  _ here; _ somehow,  _ miraculously,  _ alive, at the center of a  _ burning cocoon of metal lava. _

If he came out of that thing looking like a red-and-gold metal butterfly, Rhodey was gonna flip his shit.

Truly, Rhodey should have known. He’d known Tony was a dumbass for years; ever since MIT, that scrawny-ass kid had gotten himself into all sorts of dipshit situations, but  _ this? _ This bullshit, right here? This was a whole new  _ level _ of dumbass. 

He’d make sure Tony knew just how dumbass all this was when —  _ when _ — he woke up. Mark his words.

And then he’d hug his stupid friend and make him promise never to do something so dumbass ever again. A promise Tony wouldn’t keep, of course, but one Rhodey would make him swear to anyway.

_ When _ Tony woke up.

…and then somehow found his way out of the metal shit.

“Wait…” Pepper stilled. “How are you getting readings? Your machines aren’t hooked up to him anymore.”

Rhodey glanced at the floor and did a double take. All the wires and sensors they’d hooked him up to were scattered across the tiled floor, but they all seemed to be… alive. 

Dr. Cho grimaced. “Yeah, about that…”

_ Oh, for fuck’s sake. _

“It seems that we’re able to track his vitals… remotely.”

_ Wait, what? _

Rhodey wasn’t exactly on par with the genius doctors Tony had surrounded himself with, but he was a pretty damn good engineer himself, and he was pretty sure that “remotely” _ wasn’t quite how EEG systems worked.  _

Dr. Cho saw their looks of incredulity and gave them an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know! I don’t—” she stopped herself, taking a few calming breaths.

Pepper buried her head in her hands.

“You know,” Dr. Cho smiled wistfully, “I once dared Tony Stark to give me a medical problem I couldn’t understand.” Her soft smile twisted into a death glare. “Guess what? You win, Mr. Stark!  _ I don’t get it! _ Can you — can you wake up, now? Can you—”

She clasped a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes tightly.

Rhodey had never considered how close she and Tony had been before Ultron went down. He knew they’d worked together, and that Tony tended to form close friendships with his genius science buddies, but he’d never seen the two of them interact. But he supposed, he probably shouldn’t be surprised.

Turns out it’s pretty easy to get attached to the resident genius moron. 

Rhodey wheeled over to her side and grasped at her arm.

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. 

They’d get through it. _When_ Tony woke up.

 

* * *

 

_ 2\. The Bartons. Location classified, Iowa. _

It was a good thing that Boss had set FRIDAY to watch over the Bartons and the Langs before he went to Siberia, because it totally would have slipped her processors otherwise.

It was also a good thing that there was a private property of Boss’s outfitted with a full squadron of Legionnaires not 200 miles south of their farm. 

(It was simply good fortune, and had nothing to do with the fact that Harley Keener lived close by in Tennessee. Nothing at all.)

Besides, it gave her something to pore over incessantly besides Boss’s vitals. When she’d presented the medical staff with her twenty-ninth analysis of the readings, Boss-Lady Pepper had told her on no uncertain terms that she would lift her monitoring of the med bay, and that Vision would ping her if there were any developments.

So when seven suspiciously unregistered Air Force helicopters made their way west towards an unsuspecting farm in the middle of Iowa, FRIDAY was more than ready to deploy. 

Ross wouldn’t know what hit him. 

~~~

Laura Barton, like all three of her kids, was pissed as hell. 

Granted, Nate might be more pissed at the lack of milk than the geopolitical implications of his father’s actions, but really,  _ Clint _ was the reason she couldn’t leave her house to get milk, because  _ dammit, Clint, _ it’s not like you make  _ friends _ putting bullets in people’s skulls!

Lila was pissed because they were supposed to go water-skiing, and she’d bought a pretty wetsuit and everything. Cooper was pissed because he was old enough to understand what was happening, and he knew his dad might not come home, and he knew that it had been Clint’s choice.

But Laura? Laura pissed mad at herself, really, because  _ she saw this coming, _ didn’t she? Clint was restless here, he wasn’t happy.

Retirement didn’t suit him, and apparently, the four of them weren’t enough to convince him to stay. 

She figured she had a fairly good idea about what happened. Steve Rogers picked up a phone and called her husband, and her husband was just over the fucking  _ moon _ at the chance to get back in the game. So he dropped everything and ran off to fucking  _ Germany _ to destroy an airport.

Did he even know what he was fighting for?

Laura didn’t know. 

Laura wondered, not for the first time in the past three days, whether it would have made any difference if she’d told him that morning that she was pregnant with their fourth, instead of waiting to break the news over a nice candlelit family dinner. 

~~~

Ross’s forces were still four hours out. The Legionnaires, at mach 8, were barely two minutes away. 

~~~

_ Rat-tat-tat.  _

The heavy knock on the door sealed their fate. 

Laura knew they couldn’t have run — it would have been too conspicuous — and that their best chances were with Clint’s defenses here, but in that moment, she really wished they’d just packed up and left. 

Laura tightened her grip on her handgun. Cooper dug his fingernails into her side, shaking like mad. Nate bawled. 

Lila, so young and innocent, bounded up to the door gleefully. “I’ll get it!”

“No —  _ Lila!” _

_ No. Not Lila, please — _

“This is the Iron Legion, here on an extraction mission at the request of Tony Stark.”

_...Oh.  _

Lila swung the door open, and the Bartons were met with nine Iron Man suits in various colors, shapes, and sizes.

The suit in the center stepped forward. “We have become aware of a threat to your lives,” said a woman with a distinct Irish accent. “If you are willing, we would like to escort you to Mr. Stark’s private  property in Kentucky or the Avengers’ Compound as a temporary measure to ensure your safety.”

“Yes,” gasped Laura gratefully. “Please, get us out of here. But...” she frowned. “How are we going to get Nate out? He can’t fit in a suit— _ oh.” _

As Laura spoke, one metal suit was whirring and clicking with the spinning of gears, seemingly collapsing in on itself. It shrunk and shrunk, until —

It was an infant-sized Iron Man suit.

_ What in the fucking world.  _

“Awesome!” Cooper yelled excitedly. “Baby Iron Man!”

_ What - Baby Iron Man? _

“With added shock absorption, of course,” said the first suit, who,  _ really, _ was altogether too smug about the whole affair, Laura thought. 

They each boarded a suit, leaving Laura alone with the thought that Tony Stark was truly quite a…  _ bizarre _ man. 

~~~

FRIDAY had always thought Mark 36, Shapeshifter, was underappreciated by Boss. 

~~~

The Irish woman in the suit brought them to New York. 

 

* * *

 

“Ms. Potts,” Vision spoke up from a corner of the room.

Pepper nearly jumped three feet. She’d almost forgotten that Vision was there; he’d been even more reticent than usual during this whole ordeal, keeping towards the back of the room. Not that Pepper could blame him, of course. This was hard on all of them. “Yeah, Vis?”

“FRIDAY is alerting me to a call for Mr. Stark… from Secretary Ross.”

Pepper’s face darkened. “Have the Bartons gotten out yet?”

Vision nodded. “They are thirty minutes away from the Compound now. To avoid detection, they’re traveling slower.”

“Good. Patch him through.”

Pepper’s phone buzzed in her pocket.

**_Call from >> Thunderbitch Thaddeus_ **

God, she loved Tony.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Potts,” came Ross’s voice, sounding not all that surprised to have gotten through to her and not Tony. “I was hoping to speak with Mr. Stark?”

Pepper’s lips curled into a sneer. “Surely you’ve seen the news, Mr. Secretary,” she went for false sweetness. “Mr. Stark is presently indisposed.”

“I’m afraid I must insist, Ms. Potts. This is… very urgent.”

What was Ross’s game here? Did he really need Tony’s help, or did he just need to figure out how bad Tony’s injuries were, so he’d know just how much he could get away with? Pepper’s money was on the latter.

“Secretary Ross, Mr. Stark is unavailable. You can speak to me.”

Ross growled. “When Mr. Stark  _ makes himself _ available, please let him know that Rogers just broke into the RAFT and stole my prisoners.”

Pepper grinned, all shark-like teeth.

She could have set FRIDAY on surveillance, of course, but why should she? Really,  _ this _ was the best case scenario.

Lock up the Avengers, especially in a place like the RAFT, and they become martyrs. People start to pity them, they protest for them, and when their trial comes around, the judge and jury bend to public pressure. Let them escape, and they become fully-fledged fugitives who somehow think _they’re_ above the law. When Pepper destroyed their public image — and she _would_ destroy their public image, of course — it wouldn’t hurt to have one more nail in the coffin.

“I’m not sure what you expect me or Tony to do about that, Mr. Secretary,” she said innocently, sweetly.

“Rogers murdered four of my guards, and three others just _killed_ themselves, Ms. Potts.”

Pepper stilled. “What?”

“Rogers doesn’t have much respect for law enforcement; you know that, Ms. Potts. The bodies of the GSG soldiers in Bucharest aren’t even cold yet.”

Pepper’s blood went cold. “And the suicides?”

“Maximoff. The damn witch put some visions in almost fifty of my guards’ heads when they were escaping. Their worst fears, or something, is what one of them told me. Three of them shot themselves dead with their own guns, and the rest aren’t doing too great, either.”

_ Maximoff. _

Motherfucker.

“Do they have families?” Pepper asked quietly.

“Five of them do.”

She buried her head in her hands.  _ Oh, god. _

“Ms. Potts, if Stark really isn’t there?”

“He  _ isn’t _ available, Mr. Secretary,” Pepper snarled. “Take care of your guards. Get the injured to medical, get the traumatized to their families. Make sure that body count doesn’t go up. Stark Industries or Tony himself will pay the fees if it’s an issue. Do your damn job, and  _ don’t _ go making more trouble.”

_ Don’t go after their fucking families, you monster. _

Ross growled in what she guessed was supposed to be an intimidating snarl, but Pepper wasn’t some helpless damsel that cowered at the first sign of a fight. She knew the helicopters were already sent after the Bartons, and she knew they’d find an empty home. She knew Ross’s hand, and she was playing hers.

“I will keep that in mind, Ms. Potts,” he said lowly.

Pepper sneered. “I certainly hope you will.” With that, she ended the call.

Vision didn’t look altogether that surprised at the vitriol in her tone, though a little taken aback. Pepper sometimes forgot how young and relatively naive he was.

“Vision, status on the Langs?”

“Flynn Harolds is en route, ETA thirty-seven minutes. It appears that Secretary Ross has not dispatched anyone to get them yet, since while at the RAFT, Mr. Stark made sure to remind him that he did not actually know Lang. Ross does not expect them to have any sort of backup.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

“Of course.”

Pepper sighed and leaned back in her chair.

The cocoon was smaller now — six feet high, two feet across, approximately. It now held a vaguely humanoid figure, with a spherical shape resembling a head at the top and an elliptical rather than circular form for the body. 

She looked down at her phone. 

**_Virginia Potts >>_ **

**_10879 new messages_ **

**_289 voicemails_ **

She sighed, and still — 

One message caught her eye towards the top.

Quickly, she swiped right and let the phone take a retinal recognition scan before unlocking. 

 

**_16 new messages from: Catherine Leung >>_ **

_ CL: Flynn texted me _

_ CL: He said you got him to do extraction for the Langs _

_ CL: And you know you can’t involve one wonder twin in top-secret affairs without the other _

_ CL: Flynn and I are kind of a package deal _

_ CL: So I want in _

_ CL: I know Tony won’t agree _

_ CL: But you know what Rogers did to me _

_ CL: And Romanoff _

_ CL: And they won’t even /admit/ they made mistakes? _

_ CL: Fuck that _

_ CL: You have to draw the line in the sand somewhere _

_ CL: Don’t let them do this, Pepper _

_ CL: You owe it to Tony and you owe it to me _

_ CL: You owe it to Flynn, and all of the rest of them too _

_ CL: You owe the world the truth _

_ CL: I want in _

 

Pepper’s heart rate picked up. She knew Tony wouldn’t like this, Tony wouldn’t even think about it, he’d say it was taking advantage of Catherine’s pain — 

But Tony being too kind, too generous — that was what got him here, wasn't it? That was what got all of them here.

Pepper was at a crossroads here, she knew. Get Catherine Leung involved, and there was no turning back.

And she knew what she had to do.

 

_ VP: How soon can you be at the Compound? _

 

* * *

 

_ May 3, 2016. 3 days after Siberia. _

 

_ 3\. The Rogue Avengers. The Royal Palace, Wakanda. _

It had been half a day, and still no T’Challa. 

Finally, the doors opened and three of the women bodyguards Steve vaguely recognized from before walked in, faces expressionless and backs ramrod straight.

“Mr. Rogers,” one of them greeted him with unnecessary coldness.

_ Captain…  _

“You are all in grave danger. Wakanda is under attack.”

“Wait — what?” Sam startled. “What do you mean, under attack?”

The woman did not even move. “I do not have time to explain these things to you. For now, you must hide, before Killmonger comes.”

_ Killmonger? _

“Follow me. You will stay in the basement room, and you will not open the door for anyone but the king himself, is that clear?”

Clint scowled. “So it’s like that, huh? We’re gonna be prisoners here too? Nah, lady. I don’t think so.”

Steve agreed, though maybe he would have phrased it a little differently.

“Look, miss—” he started, but he was cut off by the woman’s voice.

“You may stay here if you please, and you may leave our country any time you like. However, be warned that we cannot guarantee your safety, particularly given the… present climate. I must take my leave soon. I can guide you to a safer place, or I can not. The choice is yours.”

Steve sighed. He didn’t like the sound of this, but with his enhanced hearing, he’d picked up on some shouting and yelling outside the royal palace. He wasn’t sure whether it was normal or not, so he hadn’t said anything, but perhaps they should take these people at their word. For now.

“Lead the way, Miss.”

The woman scowled and stalked away.

 

* * *

 

The clock passed midnight, and Happy watched the metal figure approach the shape of a human person.

They could now see the head, the arms, the legs. The torso was pretty well-defined, and if you looked close, you could almost make out a bump that was supposed to be a nose.

So Tony was under there.

Stranger things had happened, Happy supposed.

(Not  _ that many  _ stranger things, though. This was at least in the top ten.)

(What were their lives.)

Jim was on his shift sleeping. The past few days had been exhausting for all of them, but Jim in particular — between the paralysis, the worry, and the fact that he hadn’t slept in two days — he wasn’t looking so hot. 

Vision was interfacing with FRIDAY in the next room over, keeping her up to date with her Boss’s progress and checking in on the extractions. The Bartons were arriving in three minutes, and Vision would get them settled in. Happy felt a bit guilty for not helping, but… he had to stay here. He just had to.

The doctors were fussing and throwing their hands up in exasperation about every twenty minutes. Occasionally, Dr. Cho screamed. Tony would have had a field day if he weren’t… well, you know… 

And Pepper? Pepper was talking with one Catherine Leung of Stark Industries New York/Malibu PR Department.

Happy was just going to say it — Catherine Leung scared the shit out of him. Sure, she was kind and sweet, and she was so gentle with her coworkers’ kids… 

But she could also probably kill everyone in the room with the pen in her hands in ten seconds, flat. Leung versus Romanoff — that would be a fight Happy would pay to see.

Of course, whoever lost that fight would die.

Not only that, but she was a menace at PR. She was vindictive and shrewd, smart and sharp. In her two years at Stark Industries, she’d been promoted all the way to an executive position, and no one batted an eye.

Turns out, being an undercover agent makes you pretty good at making people believe what you want them to believe.

Back when she was Kathy Li of SHIELD’s Operations division, she and her field partner, Finn Harvey, were two of the best spies alive. Experts at deception, infiltration, and manipulation, they faced off against the greatest threats to global peace together, taking on the most difficult jobs and thriving. 

Which was how they found themselves deep undercover in North Korea when Black Widow dumped the SHIELDRA files online.

Happy remembered how he’d logged onto his employee webpage that morning and seen his Malibu security division nearly double in size overnight. He thought it was a bug, but of course it wasn’t, Tony Stark’s systems don’t get silly things like  _ bugs.  _ No, there were thousands of fake identities, which corresponded roughly to the number of SHIELD agents that had been burned.

The rescues took months. It was hell on Tony, and they all saw it. He’d run himself ragged encrypted the lost data, deploying Legionnaires, going on missions himself, securing the field agents, finding the families and retirees, moving them to a safe place, sending reconstruction money, upgrading security on his safehouses — sorry,  _ vacation homes _ — it took months.

But once the chaos of the moment had died down, the agents moved on with their lives. About a third went to work for the CIA, the FBI, the DOD, the new SHIELD, or just went underground. Usually, those were the ones who didn’t have families.

A sixth found other work in the private sector, and most of them accepted Tony’s help for relocation and passive security monitoring. 

(“Passive security monitoring,” of course, meant that Tony now had eyes and ears in every corner of the world. Plus, thousands of SHIELD agents scattered around the globe who owed him their lives.)

The remaining half stayed with Stark Industries. It was a pain in the ass folding them into the existing corporate structure, but they were more than willing to cooperate and accept less-than-optimal working conditions while the logistics were sorted out. In time, the new hires proved their worth. They expanded every single division, they provided valuable intel about the markets they'd once controlled from behind the scenes, and they pushed SI even further into the international arena. 

A few, like Maria Hill, went to work on Tony’s personal and private division of SI that ran the Avengers Initiative. He’d been adamant that SI as a whole wouldn’t be involved in Avengers matters — too close to weapons tech, and besides, if  _ (when) _ the Avengers fucked up, his employees wouldn’t be collateral damage. Tony wouldn’t risk that.

Some of them formed a new security division, Tactical Security. It was the superspy network everyone pretended SI didn’t have.

The technicians went to work for R&D and Logistics, the public advisors (the cover-up guys) went to PR or marketing, the liaisons went to work for the military-industrial sector under Jim (because SI still manufactured body armor, intelligence systems, communicators, trackers, translators and a thousand other things for the military, just no more _ bombs).  _ Accountants went to Accounting, HR went to HR, Legal went to Legal. Field agents did security, PR, HR, marketing, and sometimes R&D, if they had the background. Everyone found a place.

And in return, they all knew that if Tony needed to keep someone safe, all he had to do was make a call. If he needed intel, he could just make time for a five-minute chat with Lyon from Marketing. If someone was dealing valuable tech under the table, their trusty, loyal superspies would pass it onto the boss.

Stane would never happen again.

So Stark Industries, employer of thousands of people loyal enough to Tony Stark to help him hide a body, was maybe not the best place to find Team Cap supporters. 

(That’s what they were calling it in the news now — Team Cap, Team Iron Man, the Avengers Civil War.  _ Are you #TeamCap or #TeamIronMan? Tweet us at @msnbc…) _

And Catherine Leung and Flynn Harolds? They were the last two people on Earth who would support the traitorous bastard.

Turns out, the North Koreans aren’t too nice to the American spies they find in the woodwork.

Tony had to go in person to get them out. It was three weeks after the data dump.

So watching Pepper and Catherine discuss their new PR plan with matching shark-like grins, all teeth and thinly-veiled fury, Happy felt a shiver run down his spine.

Rogers would pay for that.

And looking over at Tony’s figure of molten metal, at Jim in his wheelchair, at the Bartons disembarking from the Legionnaires down the hall…

Happy decided that it was about damn time.

 

* * *

 

_ 4\. The Langs. Greater San Francisco, California. _

Maggie Lang was not going to let her child go to school,  _ dammit, _ when her precious face was on the news for being related to  _ international fugitive Scott Edward Harris Lang, _ who  _ apparently _ escaped prison yesterday night in a fight that  _ killed seven soldiers. _

Now eight — the fourth suicide, and it had something to do with the witch — Maximoff.

The thought of Cassie associated with those people — 

No. Absolutely not.

All the TVs in the house were turned off, and Cassie didn’t know why, but they couldn’t let her see her face on the news. Not until they — they figured —

Oh, what were they going to do?

And then, at twenty past midnight, came the knock at the door.

Maggie’s eyes widened and her eyes met Jim’s wildly.

_ Oh god, oh god, who could it be?  _

“Margaret Lang? James Paxton?” came a deep voice from the other side of their front door.

Maggie inhaled a shaky breath.

“This is Jim Paxton, SFPD,” Jim called, giving her a concerned glance out of the corner of his eye. "Who are you?"

“My name is Flynn Harolds of the Stark Industries Malibu Tactical Security Division, formerly of SHIELD. I’m here on behalf of Tony Stark, the Vision, and Colonel James Rhodes, who’ve identified a threat to your lives and requested extraction to a secure location.”

_ “Iron Man and War Machine?” _ Maggie mouthed.

Jim bit his lip. “Why should we believe you?” he called back.

“Uh… I have an ID?”

_ Well that’s reassuring. _

“Look, here's the deal. The Secretary of State is a bit of a nutjob, and we’re pretty sure sending military squads over here to kidnap you so he can blackmail Lang and the other Avengers into turning themselves in. I can — I can get Colonel Rhodes on the line if that would help?”

Maggie’s eyes widened.  _ The Secretary of State, trying to kidnap them for ransom. War Machine, on the phone with them. _

_ How was this their lives. _

“Yeah—yeah, that would—” Maggie swallowed uncomfortably. “That would be great.”

There was a moment of silence.

“We should probably let you in, right?” Maggie offered.

“That would help.”

Jim opened the door to reveal a tall, dark-haired man in a tailored black suit and sunglasses.

“Mr… Harolds?”

“Yes, Flynn Harolds.” The man stepped into their living room awkwardly, pulling off his shades. “I already know who you are… which, I guess, is kinda weird… here,” he said, pulling out his phone. It didn’t look like any kind of phone on the market, which made sense, she supposed. She’d heard on the news that Tony Stark made special gadgets for a lot of his employees, but resolutely avoided the commercial electronics market. Now she saw why — she could tell from just a glance that thing was advanced way beyond any iPhone or Android. 

Harolds tapped the screen a few times, and the image of Colonel James Rhodes — War Machine, or Iron Patriot — appeared. He clicked call, and then the speakerphone.

The phone rang three times before a woman picked up on a video call.

“Flynn, this is Pepper.”

_ Pepper Potts, _ Maggie’s mind supplied. CEO of Stark Industries. She recognized the face and voice; not a person in the country wouldn’t.

“Hey Pep,” said Harolds, an edge of concern in his voice. “Where’s Rhodey?”

“He’s on the sleep shift right now, I’m fielding all his important calls. The situation here is… not good. How’s the extraction going? No complications, I hope.”

“Ah, no… not really. Ross is still six hours out.”

_ Six hours.  _ Maggie shared a look with Jim.  _ They were six hours away from getting kidnapped by the Secretary of State. _

“Good. Listen, Flynn—I just got a call from Ross. He was trying to figure out how bad Tony was injured, to see if he’s going to be able to put up a fight. He’s already gone after the Bartons, but they’re here, at the Compound… Get them out of there, Flynn. The President wants answers, and Ross is getting desperate. Without Tony to control the fallout…”

Harolds’s eyebrows furrowed. “How bad is he? Tony, I mean.”

Pepper Potts closed her eyes. “We don’t know yet. A couple days ago, they put his chances at point-nine percent… and now? Now, we don’t even know… this… this could be much better, or worse…” she trailed off. “Catherine is helping with PR and the UN, but there’s still so much work to do…”

“Well, tell Kathy I say hi.”

“I will,” Ms. Potts smiled.

Maggie felt a bit like she was intruding on something, especially since that was  _ Pepper Potts,  _ Stark Industries CEO and famed almost-billionaire businesswoman pioneer of the tech industry. 

Harolds noticed, apparently, and cleared his throat. “Right, Pepper — reason I called, is — I’m here with the Paxton-Langs, and they’re understandably concerned that I might not be here on Rhodey’s behalf. They’re requesting confirmation?”

“I’m on speakerphone?” she asked.

“Yes.” He turned the screen of his phone to face them.

“Hello, Ms. Lang, Mr. Paxton,” said Pepper Potts. “My name is Virginia Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. I can certify that Flynn Harolds is acting on my behalf, as well as Tony Stark’s and Colonel Rhodes’s. I can also verify that Secretary Ross has dispatched an unauthorized team to your location as of seven minutes ago. I can’t force you to go with Mr. Harolds, but I promise you, if you do, you’ll be safe.”

Maggie swallowed. “What — what happens if we go with you?”

“We have another stop on the way, a few of Scott Lang’s friends in downtown San Francisco,” said Harolds. “Ross would have gone for you first, especially since it’s a lot harder to kidnap someone in the inner city, but he has resources and the connections.”

Maggie and Jim shared a look.

“You’ll all be taken to Mr. Stark’s high-security property outside Santa Cruz, pending relocation. It’s technically a vacation home, but it’s been a safehouse for people in need for a few years now. You’ll stay there while the dust clears, and we’ll go from there. This is just a temporary measure, just to prevent — well…”

Harolds trailed off, but Maggie got the picture.

She didn’t like it, but it didn’t look like they had a choice.

Within half an hour, they’d loaded their essentials into the black sedan and set off for Luis’s apartment.

(Maggie was going to destroy Scott Lang.)

 

* * *

 

“Hey—hey! Dr. Wu!” Rhodey called urgently. “Dr. Wu, Dr. Cho, look!”

The metal cocoon had shrunk to the point where it looked like a fine layer of red-gold metal on top of Tony’s features.

_ “My god,” _ Dr. Cho whispered.

As they watched, Tony’s features became defined: his eyes closed lightly, as if he were sleeping; the tips of his fingers separating from one another; the folds of his hospital gown becoming visible.

In the swirling metal, a glowing blue mass congealed in Tony’s chest —  _ the arc reactor. _

And suddenly, the metal started… fading off of his form, draining away… disappearing into his  _ pores.  _

The hospital gown was uncovered by metal, then patches and patches of skin, until — 

It was Tony.

~~~

**_Extremis Integration Protocol: 98.5%_ **

**_Extremis Integration Protocol: 99.1%_ **

**_Extremis Integration Protocol: 99.6%_ **

**_Extremis Integration Protocol: 99.9%_ **

**_Extremis Integration Protocol: 99.9%_ **

**_…_ **

**_Extremis Integration Protocol: 100.0%_ **

**_Integration: COMPLETE_ **

**_Extremis_v_4.0_Host$STATUS: Offline_ **

**_…_ **

**_Running: Extremis_v_4.0_Host..._ **

**_…_ **

**_…_ **

**_…_ **

**_Extremis_v_4.0_Host$STATUS: Online_ **

~~~

Tony opened his eyes.

 

* * *

 

_ 5\. Associates to Scott Lang. San Francisco, California. _

Maggie and Jim had called ahead, so Luis, Dave, and Kurt were ready when Flynn Harolds had shown up on their doorstep, SI badge in hand.

Now, they were driving a winding path up the Santa Cruz mountains. Cassie said it made her feel seasick. Flynn smiled and gave her a Starburst.

It looked like it helped a little, Luis thought.

Luis had bought the story mostly because, hey, it wasn’t as if anything else that had happened in the past three days was any  _ less _ crazy, right?

Plus, the guy had to be one of Stark's. Only Tony Stark's people could afford a suit like that, right?

Maybe the President.

_ Man, his life was weird. _

Luis watched the roads become smaller and more secluded until he was certain he was  not on a road anymore, this was barely a trail in a forest. He was sure not to say anything, for Cassie’s sake, if anything.

Finally, the trees thinned and the road turned from gravel and fallen foliage to concrete.

Flynn pulled the car to a stop.

_ “Identification,” _ came a woman’s voice out of nowhere. Luis jumped two feet in the air, nearly hitting his head on the car roof.

“Flynn Harolds, SI Malibu, Tactical Security Division. Authorized by Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, and James Rhodes, code Alpha-Tango-Victor-7-7-6-1-5.” He was speaking to a… tree? Luis caught sight of a small, unassuming black box on the side of the trunk, no larger than half the size of a phone.  _Oh._

“Hello, Mr. Harolds. It’s good to see you again,” said the lady in the box.

“Lovely to see you too, Friday.”  _ Friday? _

Luis glanced at Dave and Kurt. They had no clue either.

“I’m sorry, I’m being awfully rude,” the Irish woman said. “I am FRIDAY, the primary personal AI system of Tony Stark. I run this facility and several others, in addition to being Mr. Stark’s copilot and right hand.”

Cassie’s eyes widened comically.

Flynn geared the the engine once more and pulled the car forward through the thinning redwoods. Suddenly, the shade of the trees overhead disappeared, and they were in a bright, wide concrete clearing framed on either side by lines of blue electric light, resembling an airport runway. At the far end of the clearing was a tall, wide, grey mansion, its hard edges and sharp lines giving the impression of a fortress.

Luis felt a shiver down his spine as the car drew closer to the mansion’s gaping mouth and — “Are those guns?”

Flynn glanced over his shoulder. “High caliber turrets that house concentrated precision targeting missiles and above-military-grade preventative defense systems? Yes.”

Luis blanched. Maggie and Jim didn't look any better.

“Look, I love Tony Stark, but he’s one paranoid guy. Can’t blame him, for all he’s been through, but he’s pretty damn — er, darn, sorry, Ms. Lang — he’s paranoid, is the point.”

_ Yeah. That’s for sure. _

“You’ll be safe,” Flynn reassured them. “No one short of Tony himself can touch you here.”

On cue, there was a  _ whoosh _ of several repulsor engines firing behind them, a sound that everyone in the world now knew meant _Iron Man._

Five Iron Man suits soared through the air, swooping down to the ground and back up again, forming a half-ring in front of them.

“Oh, yeah,” Flynn said casually. “He mentioned the Legionnaires.”

_ Oh, god. _

_ Scott, what have you gotten us into? _

“Awesome!” Cassie shrieked.

Well, at least someone was having a good time.

 

* * *

 

Tony opened his eyes.

It took a moment for his burning skin to register in his hazy mind, and when it did, it didn’t sent him flying into a panic like someone would expect. It was just — 

_ Oh, hey. My skin’s on fire. _

Look at that. Glowing orange veins. That's new.

Now, where’d he seen that before?

_ Extremis. _

Why would — 

_ Oh. _

Tony recalled events of the past few days in his mind’s eye... He saw the shield come down, he saw Rogers leave with Barnes, he saw himself trapped in the bunker — 

So that was why he had Extremis.

Huh. Go figure.

Suddenly, Tony felt a buzzing at the back of his head. He squinted and shook his head to clear it, but the buzzing just got louder, and —

“Tony! Tony, can you hear me?”

Rhodey.

“Urgghhh… Rhodey-bear,” he mumbled.

_ “Tony!” _

That was Happy, Tony registered.

_ “Mmmph. _ F—feel like shit.”

He felt warm arms wrap around him, but he couldn’t tell whose they were. He blinked bearily and opened his eyes.  _ Pepper. _

“Hey, Pep,” he whispered. “I feel like shit.”

“Oh, Tony, thank god you’re okay, thank god you’re alive, we were so  _ worried— _ ”

“M’ okay, Pep, I swear —”

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word, Mr. Stark,” came Vision’s voice from behind her.

Tony’s face split into a grin. “Hey, Vis.”

Vision smiled. "It's good to see you well, Mr. Stark."

“You  _ dumbass. _ ”

And that was Rhodey.

“You idiot, I love you so much, you know that Tones? You stupid little _ shit. _ ”

Rhodey was in a wheelchair.

_ Fuck. _

God, Tony had fucked up so bad, oh god — “Oh, Rhodey, I’m so sorry, I’m so—”

“Dumbass! See, I  _ told _ you guys! What a dumbass.” Rhodey’s voice cracked. “Just… just, come here, Tones…”

Rhodey grabbed a fist full of Tony’s hospital gown and pulled him down into his arms. Tony resisted for a moment, because he didn’t  _ deserve _ Rhodey, _ Rhodey,  _ who he’d  _ paralyzed, _ but then, then it was all just too much, and he just buried his head in Rhodey’s neck.

After an eternity, Rhodey pulled away, and Happy replaced him; not even waiting to say anything, just pulling him gruffly into a hug.

“Don’t you ever do that to us again, Boss.”

Tony melted into the touch. It felt like home.

“Boss?” came FRIDAY’s voice out of nowhere.

“Yeah, FRI?” whispered Tony.

Happy pulled back and gave him a concerned look. The others were staring too - well, more than they were staring before - and Tony didn’t know what was wrong.

_ “Boss?” _ FRIDAY asked again, and she was  _ in his head. _

_ Oh, shit. _

And this — _this_ was when the panic set in, he could feel it happen. His breaths getting shorter, his chest constricting, the buzzing at the back of his head getting louder and louder.

He felt — he  _ felt _ the data that FRIDAY was compiling — he felt the lines of code, living in her systems — he  _ heard _ them — and suddenly, Dr. Wu's heart monitor was the loudest thing in the room by far — 

He heard his friends yelling his name, but he  _ couldn’t _ hear them over the buzzing, clouding his mind. The incessant beeping was  _ inside his head,  _ that  _ beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep,  _ getting louder and louder and filling his head with noise like a bee’s hive. He couldn’t think — he couldn’t — 

“Shut up!  _ Shut up, _ damn you!”

The beeping was gone. Slowly, Tony glanced to his right, where — 

— the heart monitor had gone offline.

_ Oh, shit. _

Tony forced himself to take several deep breaths, because that’s — that’s what you do when this shit happens, right? When you, when you, apparently, can turn off a heart monitor with your mind — 

“Tony!  _ Tony!” _ Pepper cried.

Tony looked up at her, terrified. 

“Focus on me, Tony,” she said shakily. “Focus on me.”

Tony nodded vigorously, holding her gaze and swallowing, hard,  _ deep breaths in, deep breaths out. _ He inhaled, he exhaled.  _ Count them out, like Harley told you. Deep breath in, two, three…  _

They stayed like that a while. The panic eased. 

Tony chanced a look at the heart monitor, and —

— turns out it hadn’t just been the heart monitor.  _ All _ the medical equipment was fried.

_ Okay. _

So he could tell tech to shut up, and then _kill it._

_ Great. That’ll come in handy when HammerTech does their next product launch, _  some vaguely delirious part of himself thought wildly.

He took a deep, shaky breath, and then turned back to the people before him, who were staring, dumbfounded.

“I’ll just…” Tony trailed off awkwardly, pointing his thumb to the door.

“Oh, Tony —” Pepper started walking towards him.

Tony backed up, “—you know, go to the lab, and—”

“Don’t—”

“—get back to work, make an omelet, or something—”

_ “Tony—” _

“It’s—it’s okay, Pep.” Tony smiled, all teeth, and far too brittle. “It’s okay.”

Pepper bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously. “No. No, it’s not.”

“No, it’s not," he agreed. "But we gotta get back to work.”

Pepper clearly didn’t know what to say, and Tony felt bad, but he had to get out of here, he had to — to process.

Tony took in the group in front of him once more. The doctors — all the best ones, too, meaning the  _ best _ ones alive — and Vision, Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey — 

Rhodey, in a wheelchair.

“Well, that’ll have to go,” he muttered to himself, turning away and walking out of the med bay, down the hall.

Extremis, Avengers, international law; all of that could wait. He’d deal with the problems sooner or later — and he  _ would _ deal with them, all of them, he would  _ finish _ them, because the Avengers — the Avengers had long overstayed their welcome at _this_ party, he decided — but all of that could wait.

Because that — that wheelchair? That would have to go.

~~~

Pepper straightened her back, forcing the quiver from her fingertips, forcing herself to be stronger than she felt. 

“Well?” she demanded. “You heard him. Back to work.”

Everyone just stared.

Pepper blinked back tears, remembering the day she'd stood on that tarmac and waited for him to come home.

“Vacation’s over.”

 

* * *

 

_ +1. _

Colonel Helmut Zemo would not be extracted from his maximum-security cell in Berlin, pending relocation.

He knew this. He knew he did not have anyone to save him. He had no one at all, not a soul in the world who cared for him.

He had lost all that mattered. He had lost his family.

And still, he was content — sitting in his cell, watching various officials pass through, trying to strongarm him into giving away some HYDRA plot that he, of course, knew nothing about.

Because there was still one consolation to the pain of his loss; there was but one comfort.

_ Revenge. _

Zemo smiled.

His plan was not yet done.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnn!
> 
> If you think this is the last we hear of the ramifications of SHIELDRA's collapse, you're wrong. Catherine Leung, for one, is going to be a big name in the coming chapters, because she's pissed as heck.
> 
> I know, I know, we aren't getting much Tony yet -- give it, like, two chapters. Also, all the characters we aren't seeing in this chapter, we'll see next chapter; this one was getting way too long for a simple 5+1.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments last time. If you want to leave another, well, you know what motivated me to get this chapter out so quickly! (Oh my god, I'm a corrupt fanfic writer. This is awesome.)


	3. Prologue, Part III: Ten Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the ten days that follow Tony's Extremis rebirth, he locks himself in his Compound lab and works. Around him, the world kind of goes to shit (you know, 'cause he's not around to make it not go to shit.)
> 
> The last prologue chapter. Next chapter, we finally get solid, dedicated Tony Stark Content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of the prologue-y chapters! We’ll get into some real action soon. Tony kicks ass, soon.
> 
> Fair warning: this is /Super Long/… like 20k+... it wasn't supposed to be, but... it... happened
> 
> Sorry about the long wait. Life has been Terrible And Busy ™ and I’ve had pretty much no time. Plus, in case you can’t tell, this chapter fought me every step of the way. I also wrote a bit of the next chapter that was supposed to be part of this one, but it got too long… Probably faster updates soon! Hope the long chapter makes up for it. 
> 
> This chapter features: Ten days of chaos, an angry wasp, a morally dubious Rhodey (he’s been through /way too much/ to be totally chill after a week like in the MCU), and more!
> 
> Disclaimer: I’m using fake names for UN officials because I don’t want to, like, accidentally defame some ambassador.  
> Other disclaimer: I don’t know how the law works, so whatever, “consequences happen” is the gist of it.
> 
> UPDATES: 1) I cut the hurricane bit. I decided it was too unrealistic, even for comic book science; 2) I don't really want to make this fic about my politics so Trump is no longer part of the fic. Rick Payton, random ass guy I came up with off the top of my head, is replacing him. 
> 
> Once more, I am astounded by your support and positivity. Your comments never fail to make me smile! Seriously, thank you so much. Keep it up, because you know what motivates me to write!
> 
> <3

 

It was ten days before Tony emerged from the lab. Ten days, before he ate or slept or let himself rest for even a moment. Ten days before anyone but FRIDAY saw Tony again.

He couldn’t just leave them hanging, he supposed. That would probably be one of those things that made Pepper would raise her eyebrows disapprovingly in that _way_ of hers.

So: ten days, ten people. Ten text conversations.

As the world felt the aftershocks of the Avengers Civil War, Tony’s sole contact with the outside world was in ten SMS message chats.

 

* * *

 

_May 4, 2016. 4 days after Siberia._

 

Harley Keener woke up more than two hours early for school after a fourth restless night of sleep.

He was trying not to worry, he really was, it was just… it was really hard not to.

He’d taken to sleeping in the workshop the past few days. Katie and his mom sent him pitying looks every day when he slipped down the stairs past midnight, but neither of them had the heart to tell him to come back up. Harley knew he could get away with his sulking for a few more days, if only because they were both worried too.

For now, they brought him pillows, blankets, and tea every night, and they coaxed him away from an old potato gun and the news, they lay him down onto the workshop couch at one. They tucked him in and told him, _everything will be alright._ Harley wasn’t sure if they even believed it themselves.

Harley sure didn’t.

But still, he refused to believe Tony was dead. He refused to mourn. He refused to even _consider_ that possibility, because Tony _had_ to be alive.

He had to be.

He rolled over and grabbed his phone from where it was charging on the coffee table. It flashed the time — **_5:03 A.M._ ** — but then, he saw the long thread of missed messages. He unlocked his phone.

 

**Harley Keener >>**

**14 new messages**

_TS: I got your voicemail_

_TS: You called me Dad_

_TS: I would be such a terrible dad_

_TS: I’m so honored_

_TS: I’m crying and everything_

_TS: FRIDAY is gonna blackmail me with this footage forever_

_TS: I’m okay_

_TS: I’m going to be okay_

_TS: Stay strong for me_

_TS: Wear your Iron Man pajamas_

_TS: Those probably don’t fit anymore_

_TS: I should get you some more_

_TS: I love you kid_

_TS: Never doubt it_

 

Harley’s face broke out in a wide grin, the first in days. He laughed — he even laughed out loud.

_Those stupid pajamas._

The heavy weight that had settled over his shoulders in the past few days lifted in a second, and Harley bit his lip to keep from laughing too loud and waking up his mom and sister.

Tony was okay.

_Dad’s okay._

Smiling wildly, he tapped out a response.

 

**Outgoing messages (2) >>**

_HK: Love you too, old man_

_HK: Stay safe_

 

He let his eyes flutter shut, and sleep took him once more.

 

~~~

 

“Are we going anywhere this summer, mom?”

Hannah Keener glanced over suspiciously at her son, whose voice had taken an uncharacteristically innocent tone. “No… why?”

Harley grinned. “How about New York?”

 

* * *

 

_May 5, 2016. 5 days after Siberia._

 

Truth be told, T’Challa was more concerned with the fallout after Killmonger’s rampage than the Ex-Avengers in his basement, or even Tony Stark.

He felt bad, of course — he’d seen the photos of him being checked into a hospital in Helsinki, a fate that could have been avoided if T’Challa had just _checked_ — but he would have time for his guilt later. Now, his focus had to be on his countrymen, many of whom had lost their lives in the recent battle.

He was not naive, though, nor was he blind. He knew that as soon as all of this commotion within Wakanda died down, he would have some apologies to make, and rightfully so. But until then, he would help rebuild Wakanda, tend to the injured, and console the families of the lost.

Then, he turned on the news.

 

**_CNN: Eight Dead in Avengers RAFT Prison Break >>_ **

_Four American soldiers were killed by Steve Rogers in the ex-Avengers’ escape from the RAFT underwater prison, and four (as of this morning) later took their own lives after being shown a vision by Enhanced ex-Avenger Wanda Maximoff…_

 

_Oh, Bast._

Because this was just the week from hell, was it not? His father killed in front of him, his country ravaged by battle, and now, this? This _atrocity,_ and it was on his hands.

And that was not all, because _of course_ it was not, that would simply be too _convenient._

No, his engineers had found a message _implanted within_ their incoming mail stream — the first successful hacker of Wakanda from the outside world, if all this was not bad enough —

But at least, T’Challa mused, the man was not hiding, not did he seem to have any malicious intent. At least he was straightforward, and _reasonable._

 

**Wakandan Royal Electronic Mail >>**

**10 messages from Stark, A. E. (flagged, BREACH OF CYBERSECURITY, URGENT)**

_Stark, A. E.: Pink Panther_

_Stark, A. E.: I heard you had some kind of civil war over in Wakanda_

_Stark, A. E.: Don’t overexert yourself, we literally /just/ got through with the last one_

_Stark, A. E.: But seriously, I’m glad you’re okay_

_Stark, A. E.: Obligatory concern for former allies and all that_

_Stark, A. E.: Look, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you didn’t know I was bleeding out in a Siberian bunker_

_Stark, A. E.: And as such I won’t devalue your economy by telling the world that I can synthesize vibranium, albeit at a ridiculous cost_

_Stark, A. E.: But King Kitty?_

_Stark, A. E.: We’re going to need to have a discussion about those fleas you picked up_

_Stark, A. E.: Before someone decides to come at you with parasiticide_

 

T’Challa took a deep, calming breath.

“Ayo?”

“Yes, my king?”

“If you would please get Shuri for me?”

“Of course.”

He might as well get his sister started on the security breach while he unpacked that message.

Where did he start? Stark had been bleeding out in a bunker; Stark was (thankfully) alive now; Stark was somehow _concerned_ for him; Stark somehow knew about Wakanda’s battle; Stark could synthesize _vibranium,_ which was thought to be an impossible task without having vibranium in the first place; Stark knew that _Wakanda_ had vibranium; Stark knew about the Rogues; Stark needed to _talk_ about the Rogues; and Stark was… _threatening them?_

All before T’Challa even considered that Tony Stark could hack Wakandan servers… He could have easily sent a proper email, but he chose to implant the message in their domestic electronics system _directly_ — a deliberate move. A clear threat.

For all the chaos and nightmare the past week had been, he had a feeling…

That it was possible that he had just met the man who was to be either his greatest ally, or his greatest foe, in the years to come.

 

**Outgoing message to Stark, A. E. (1) >>**

_T’Challa, King of Wakanda: I will keep that in mind._

 

* * *

 

_May 6, 2018. 6 days after Siberia._

 

It was the news week from hell or from heaven, depending on who you asked.

In the end, it pretty much came down to whether your outlet had been a diehard Captain America fan channel before all this shit went down. If you were, you had to pull every propaganda trick in the book to remind the audience that this was _Captain America,_ the man who could do no wrong, _remember when he punched Nazis for us?_

On another day, it might have worked.

 _Another day,_ meaning a day when Tony Stark, Rogers’s PR manager extraordinaire, wasn’t out of rotation.

 _Another day,_ meaning a day when notoriously vindictive PR _master_ Catherine Leung wasn’t allegedly meeting Pepper Potts at Avengers Compound, if the pictures CNBC took were anything to go by.

 _Another day,_ meaning a day when the one and only Pepper Potts wasn’t fighting to avenge a loved one she’d nearly lost.

 _Another day,_ meaning a day when SI hadn’t just released footage of the Leipzig battle from the War Machine and Iron Man armors, verifying that Tony had made clear attempts to negotiate, and that Rogers had shot him down.

 _Another day,_ meaning a day when Stark Industries wasn’t gearing up for war.

Today, Christine Everhart was very, very glad that WHiH News hadn’t played the Cap card. Between Potts and Leung… Even the interns on the newsfloor knew what that meant for their enemies.

The Rogue Avengers’ fates were sealed.

But while Christine was relieved that WHiH would be spared the bloodbath that would inevitably ensue, she couldn’t help but feel… concerned? Yes, concerned, okay, she could admit it.

Over the years, she’d seen Tony Stark again and again, by Pepper Potts’s side. She’d seen them through Stane, Vanko, the Mandarin, Ultron…

And now this.

Would she see him through this? Would he come out the other side?

On cue, her phone buzzed with a string of new notifications. She flicked them open, and her eyes widened, then narrowed.

 

**Christine Everhart >>**

**13 new messages**

_TS: I realize this is probably one favor too many to ask from you_

_TS: But the little girl, Cassie Lang?_

_TS: She’s only nine_

_TS: Keep her out of the news circuit as much as possible_

_TS: If you have to bribe people I’ll reimburse you_

_TS: Also, Barton’s kids are probably going to show up in coverage too_

_TS: Keep their photos from being circulating too widely_

_TS: People* are after their lives_

_TS: *People = Thunderbitch_

_TS: Sorry if this is terrible for your journalistic integrity or whatever_

_TS: But, you know_

_TS: They’re kids_

_TS: This isn’t their fight_

 

 _Thunderbitch?_ — oh. _Ross._

Made sense.

Christine nodded to herself. She could manage that. It would be difficult, but…

She’d convince WHiH to pull the photos, setting a nice precedent, shift the coverage a little —maybe drop a hint on Romanoff and SHIELDRA at CNN to divert attention — Leung would love that, Christine knew she bore an uncanny resemblance to a Kathy Li who disappeared two years ago —

Now, Christine supposed, she could understand what Tony meant all those years ago when he’d said that peace meant having the bigger stick than the other guy. It didn’t just mean weapons. It meant playing your hand — whatever was in your hand — to protect the people who needed to be protected. It meant doing the wrong thing for the right reasons; playing dirty journalism to save a child from cruelty. And for all that people protested that _the ends justify the means_ was no philosophy to live by, a whole lot of them owed their lives to those who acted on that ideal.

She didn’t say any of that to Tony, though. That wasn’t what he needed to hear, and that wasn’t what she needed to say.

 

**Outgoing messages (1) >>**

_CE: I’m glad you’re okay, Tony_

 

With renewed resolve, Christine smoothed out her pencil skirt and strode into her editor’s office.

“Tom?”

Tom looked up from his monitor, a frantic glint in his eyes. _(She did mention this was the news week from hell, right?)_

“Please, tell me you have something, Everhart,” he pleaded hopefully. “Stark, maybe?”

In the years since Gulmira and Vanko, Christine had somehow fallen into the role of the designated Tony Stark correspondent. It wasn’t her fault that Tony trusted her more after Gulmira and her Powerful Women Series article about Pepper Potts (apparently, Christine was one of the few who could distinguish a fearless, uncompromising, intelligent businesswoman from a gold-digger who slept her way to the top). It wasn’t her fault Tony had seen her at a charity event just after the drama with Vanko and had taken her aside for a drink because _Everhart, I physically cannot stomach those douches from VistaCorp, please save me._ It wasn’t _her_ fault that Tony and she had formed a working partnership of semi-corrupt journalistic practices, in which Tony traded exclusive access to breaking SI/Avengers news and any advertisers’ contracts he could wrangle for the ability to… _nudge_ WHiH in a certain direction.

Tom, and really, _everyone_ on the newsfloor knew, and no one judged her for it. (That was one thing she liked about WHiH over Vanity Fair — everyone at WHiH had their own sources, and no one pretended they didn’t; no one looked down on you for what you did to survive in the new age of clickbait journalism.)

But Tony made the terms of the arrangement very clear, to her and her editor — their little backchannel would not be used excessively, only in times of need; there would be no smear campaigns or blackmail funds; neither party could demand something of the other without a fair agreement.

They’d used their system to keep SHIELD under the radar when they started moving into the light in 2010, they’d used it to turn the media on General Ross and keep his time occupied with fixing a PR mess so Bruce Banner could go to ground; they’d used it to debunk conspiracy theories about Captain America’s return from the ice and solidify SHIELD’s claim; they’d used it to focus attention on the glamour of heroes in sparkly spandex and keep people from asking too many questions after the Battle of New York; they’d used it to keep the profiles of burned SHIELD agents out of the news. (And to divert attention from Stark Industries’s overnight hiring spree, in which the new employees all happened to have never existed before 2014 — not that you’d be able to tell from their fake IDs.)

They hadn’t gotten a call to keep Sokovia quiet.

Christine knew why.

Everyone else on the WHiH newsfloor came to recognize it too: that Tony Stark never called to cover up his mistakes, or to put pressure on his competitors. He didn’t call unless it was _really fucking important,_ when _lives_ were on the line, when something _real_ was at stake. And they all respected him for it.

Tom especially, because he got some sweet advertising deals out of the bargain.

“Tony Stark just texted me,” Christine told him.

“He’s alive?” Tom grinned. “Awesome. What did he say?”

“The kids. He wants their names and faces pulled from coverage.”

Tom’s grin disappeared as quickly as it came, and he dropped his pen on his desk. “Of course, of _course_ he’s worried about the goddamn — wait, _kids?_ As in, more than one?”

“Yeah,” said Christine. “Apparently Hawkass has kids too, but they’re hush-hush. The word will inevitably get out, of course, but… he wants us to at least keep the faces from coverage. I’m guessing he’ll end up giving them fake identities, since they’re still young enough.”

Tom swore. “Didn’t even think of that. Yeah, yeah, get — get Paul on that, right now. See if Lizzie has those contacts at CNN who can set a better precedent for this stuff, and try Joey for liaising with online platforms…”

Christine smiled and fingered her engagement ring lightly.

If what she did now meant a better world for her future family? It would all be worth it.

It felt good to be fighting for what was right.

 

* * *

 

_May 7, 2018. 7 days after Siberia._

 

“Pym Technologies, along with myself and my father, express our heartfelt regret and disappointment that the Ant-Man suit has been used in this way. We would like to publicly apologize for the actions of Scott Lang on German soil, which resulted in hundreds of millions of dollars in damages and the escape of fugitives Steve Rogers and James Barnes. All I can say in our defense is that we never believed Mr. Lang would betray our trust in him on the word of one man and a single phone call. We never believed that he would abandon his family simply because _Captain America_ asked him to, despite the fact that just days prior, Steve Rogers killed and injured several law enforcement officers and dropped a bridge on countless civilians. Our deepest condolences to the victims of the tragedy in Bucharest last week.

“Lang was also an accomplice to the murders of four American prison guards at the RAFT on Monday, and to the mental attack that later pushed four others to take their own lives. By providing him with the technology that landed him in the prison in the first place, we ourselves are partially to blame for that crime. We would like to apologize to the families of the dead, and, in the knowledge that it could never make up for your loss, Pym Technologies will cover all medical, mental health, and life insurance expenses from the attack.

“In addition, Pym Technologies will also be working with Stark Industries and Pepper Potts to pay for the damages to the Leipzig airport. I know that the German government has since requested that Scott Lang himself be the one to pay his share, but seeing as this is unlikely to occur in the short term, we would like to offer our support however we can to get reconstruction efforts underway. If Scott Lang does pay off his debt in the future, we and Stark Industries will accept a refund. Until that time, however, we must do our best to come together, to rebuild and regroup.”

Hope van Dyne looked up from her cards and out into the sea of reporters, into the flashing cameras and jostling bodies of the crowd. “I do have one more request to make of you, though.

“Don’t be blinded by the fame and celebrity of Captain America. Remember that Steve Rogers is a person like any other, not some infallible paragon of honor and justice. He is just as capable of making mistakes as anyone else, and he is not above the law. Don’t turn a blind eye to the suffering he’s caused just because he’s the man you remember from your childhood comic books.

“Steve Rogers killed innocents in Bucharest, and he killed honest law enforcement officers both in Bucharest and on the RAFT. The world has yet to see or hear from Tony Stark. He committed all of these acts either out of malice or without care, and he expressed no regret for his actions; he expressed no willingness to allow his actions to be bound by the laws that govern us all. He is no better than the terrorists he fights. He is no more than a fascist playing his way into power off of people’s blind loyalty to him, born of propaganda and lies. I beg of you, treat him as such.

“My deepest apologies to the victims of Bucharest and the RAFT prison attack, to the German government and the authorities at Leipzig-Halle; to Stark Industries; for sparing its expenses; and to the Avengers who fought on the side of accountability and justice: the Vision, Spider-Man, King T’Challa, and most of all, Tony Stark and Colonel James Rhodes, the latter of whom has sustained permanent paralysis as a result of the battle at Leipzig.

“I have one more announcement to make. I am in possession of another suit, the Wasp suit, which is equipped with similar shrinking technology to the Ant-Man. As of tomorrow, I will have signed the Sokovia Accords. I would like to offer my membership to the Avengers Initiative in the hopes that together with the United Nations, I can begin to undo the damage I had a hand in inflicting upon the world.”

Hope took a deep, shaky breath. “Are there any questions?”

The room exploded into chaos.

~~~

Escaping the clamoring of reporters shouting their questions and begging for a statement took some time, but Hope managed. This wasn’t exactly her first press conference.

Of course, there were high stakes now. Higher than they ever had been. Pepper Potts and Catherine Leung had made that very clear to her.

Meeting with them had been… an experience, to say the least. As a businesswoman who had spent her whole life fighting to survive in the world of men, she had a great deal of respect for Pepper Potts, arguably the most successful businesswoman alive. Head of the largest tech empire in the world (yes, she could admit it, even if her father couldn’t), self-made almost-billionaire (983 million, by Forbes’s last estimate), and one badass motherfucker in the corporate world.

In any businessman’s or politician’s career, there came a time when Pepper Potts and Tony Stark scared them shitless. Tony Stark, because he grew up in the Cold War arms business, and he started _young._ As a child, he learned how to run rings around any negotiator, how to threaten the most unshakeable of adversaries, and how to destroy anyone anytime he liked. There were patents for guns in his name when he was _five._ He was ruthless… but just when he felt he needed to be.

Pepper Potts, because while Tony Stark was ruthless, he didn’t push too far. He preferred snarking off or destroying his competitors through innovation and fair competition over extortion and strongarming. Hope figured this had something to do with his past experiences with the stereotypical evil businessman (looking at you, Obadiah Stane).

Pepper Potts had no such compunctions.

She had a heart of gold, sure, but she knew everything that Stark knew — how to lie, how to manipulate, how to destroy an entire company (or country or really whatever was in the way) while smiling like a shark — she knew it all. Stark had taught her the dark side of business, and in return, she had brought her own brilliant acumen and her razor-sharp intelligence to the table. Maybe she couldn’t build a gun from scraps in a minute like he could, but she was dangerous.

Normally, when two titans of their caliber find their way into the ring, they face off against each other. Businessmen are selfish, and they don’t want to share their power. They fight. And while the big guys are fighting, everyone else just tries to stay out of the way, out of the fallout, and the titans’ wrath doesn’t fall to the common businessman. And thus, the power is kept in check.

The thing was, Stark and Potts would never fight each other. Because they _loved_ each other.

There were rumors circulating that the two had broken up in the last year or so — they hadn’t been spotted on dates, their schedules lined up less, and their joint appearances were strictly business — and some had hoped that maybe, _maybe_ there would finally be a crack in the Stark empire for someone else to squeeze into.

Hope knew better, though. Romantically or no, they _loved_ each other.

Tony Stark was the king, and Tony Stark had chosen Pepper Potts to be the queen. They ruled together, and they stood by each other. Romantically or no.

It wasn’t as if Hope herself was powerless, though. Hope was undoubtedly one of the top ten businesswomen in the US, and PymTech was the second or third largest tech company in the States. Not an achievement to be dismissed lightly. In fact, Hope was proud to say that PymTech was probably one of the few companies that could compete with SI, that could lock them out of markets, that could fight them and sometimes win.

But while Pym Technologies was powerful, a multi-million dollar national company, Stark Industries had the advantage of a _serious_ head start on them, and it didn’t help that they were already in the business of leaving every other tech corporation in the dust.

Plus, since Hank had left, they’d never had a brilliant mastermind at the helm quite like him. Some good guys at R&D, sure, but never… never the same.

Hope had a master’s in engineering, but she wasn’t _really_ a scientist; like Potts, she had the general understanding of scientific principles she needed to run a tech company, but she fared better in the business world. And Hank, like it or no, was never the visionary Stark was. Hank was brilliant and an amazing scientist who outshone even Stark in certain fields... but Stark was a futurist. He saw ahead of the curve, and he rewrote the world to suit what he foresaw at his whim.

 _Reframe the future,_ Hope mused. That was Stark through and through.

Because of all that, Pym Technologies was now about where Stark Industries was when Howard Stark died. Good, important, _revolutionary_ even; but a company, not an empire. Not even close to where SI is now.

So it was very, very important this meeting went well.

And it did, Hope thought — Ms. Potts was cordial and understanding, especially after Hope clarified that _I’m not my father, I don’t have a twenty-five-year vengeance to settle with Tony Stark,_ and the two of them got along well. Shared experiences, and all that…

But there was a small undercurrent of a threat in her tone, in the menacing glint of her eyes…

 _Don’t touch the people I love,_ it said.

_Noted._

Hope told them about the Wasp suit. Ms. Potts said that she was certain that she could find a place on the new Avengers team, should the Council be so willing, but that a certain amount of… _reparations_ would be due, she’d said with an incline of her head, taken to mean that Hope would not only have to make a show of goodwill to the world and the UN, but to Stark as well.

Hope understood. Potts’s best friend (boyfriend? ...her loved one) was in the hospital — perhaps fighting for his life, if her tense frame was anything to go by — and now she was approached by the daughter of a man with a Stark grudge the size of California.

But Hope was more than willing to set that aside, especially after she heard the first item on the agenda.

The first thing they did was call Santa Cruz. A man named Flynn Harolds answered the phone, greeting Potts cordially and Leung with some snarky in-joke Hope didn’t understand. When Potts saw the confusion on her face, she clarified, “Field partners.”

It took a minute for Hope to get… all the implications of that.

_Ex-SHIELD._

Well, Romanoff’s fucked.

She spoke with Maggie and Paxton, who reassured her that they were safe _(but that assho — sorry, Maggie, didn’t see Cassie there —  I’m gonna have some words, is all I’m saying);_ Luis, who swore he was not taking _any_ creative liberties with his description of Stark’s safe house _(and then the suit-lady was like, “yeah, we’ve got, like, a bunker in the basement, ‘cause Tony Stark was like ‘we gotta have a bunker, you know? And all these of missiles, and stuff,’” and this is insane, man!);_ and Cassie _(I saw a lady Iron Man, Aunt Hope! It was really cool, but I wish I could see daddy. He’s way cooler. He’s the best superhero ever.)_

Hope wanted to strangle Scott.

When she'd calmed down and evened out her breathing, they discussed relief efforts. Stark had already set a plan for Bucharest in motion, and Hope knew that offering help once all the bureaucratic moving pieces had been put put in place would just make things more complicated.

Leipzig was more simple — it was mostly financial cost, diverting airline traffic, and reconstruction. Since Scott had caused most of the high-cost damage at the airport _(damn you, damn you, damn you)_ Hope had insisted on paying her fair share.

The German government was, apparently, insisting that Scott himself pay the damages incurred _(so someone got tired of well-intentioned billionaires stepping in to clean up these idiots’ messes like they were small children, who would have thought?)_ but that simply wasn’t realistic. Eventually, Germany accepted that Stark, Potts, SI, Hope, and Pym Technologies would help pay for the damages if they would make Scott refund them. Hope’s heart wept for the state of his credit card. She’d make sure none of it touched Maggie, Paxton, and Cassie, though.

_Maggie, Paxton, and Cassie._

Evacuated. In the middle of the night. By a former SHIELD agent. To Tony Stark’s super-secret mansion-fortress in Santa Cruz. Fleeing from Thaddeus Ross.

She couldn’t even — she couldn’t even — how _could_ Scott?

Realistically, she knew that Scott would never have thought of that, would never, _ever,_ have left his family if he’d thought there was even a small chance —

But he didn’t _think._ Sure, he couldn’t have _possibly_ known about Ross, but he ran off to become an _international fugitive,_ what did he _think_ was going to happen?

Which had brought them to the RAFT.

Whatever could be said about Leipzig, Scott never killed anyone. Massive property damage, yes, but not _murder._ But at the RAFT… at the RAFT, Scott had stood by and watched four soldiers die. He’d watched Maximoff torture almost fifty others.

That couldn’t be right. Scott could be short-sighted at times, but he was _anything_ but cold. He wasn’t a killer. Scott was all heart.

Had Hope been wrong about that, too?

Hope pushed the thought aside and insisted that she and PymTech be the ones to cover that disaster. Potts insisted on helping coordinate efforts, because _really, Ms. van Dyne, we’ve had a great deal more experience in these matters, believe us,_ and wasn’t that a little concerning?

They’d moved on to PR then, and…

Yup. Good luck, Cap fans. Catherine Leung and Pepper Potts… Christ, they were fucking scary.

The gist of the short-term plan was: Steve Rogers was the perfect poster-boy for Captain America because he was the “little guy.” The underdog. The guy who made all the other little guys feel good about themselves, because he made them believe _they could matter too._

Such a cheap, old PR trick, but it worked every time. People were predictable that way.

To take down Steve Rogers meant to deconstruct that image of him. It meant making people realize that Rogers was not the _little guy,_ he did _not_ have their best interests at heart, he was not just an good, American upstanding citizen trying to do the best for his country one Nazi-punch and hot dog at a time.

No, no — remind the world that _Captain America_ was a media trick, a propaganda tool — used to manipulate them, to inspire blind faith and loyalty. Then remind them that he lived easy while putting on appearances as the struggling commoner _just like you._ Then remind them that he was self-righteous, impetuous, and ignorant, and that people died because of that. People died, and the government’s _propaganda_ gave him the leeway he needed for the world to turn a blind eye.

If there was one thing everyone in that room had all learned from being wealthy corporate moguls, it was that people loved to hate powerful people. People loved a scapegoat with no perceived struggles in their life, one they couldn’t possibly feel bad for.  They liked to feel like the underdogs, the heroes, battling the big bad enemy.

Granted, a lot of the time, they weren’t wrong. Corruption was rampant in every place of power, every government, every agency, every corporate structure. But the point was, playing Steve Rogers as a reflection of that stereotype, the bad guy in power exploiting the people’s goodwill and faith, would turn the country on him in a snap.

The second part was keeping Tony Stark safe from the fallout.

Potts and Leung reliably informed her, wearing matching shark-like grins, that the two of them had that covered. Hope repressed a shiver that ran down her spine.

But then suddenly, FRIDAY, Stark’s AI, had quietly alerted Potts that _Mr. Stark is waking up, Boss-Lady Pepper, you should get to the med bay quickly,_ and her menacing expression melted into something soft and vulnerable. With a quick clicking of heels, Pepper Potts was gone.

 _Well,_ Hope mused, _at least they aren’t mad at you._

And now, they sure weren’t — she’d done exactly as they had asked. She’d been the first to really call out Rogers for his hypocrisy and the first to take a crack at the wax figure of Captain America, without any of the minted words or false platitudes that everyone had come to expect.

Her position to do this was better than anyone else’s — someone at Stark Industries, Potts in particular, would be immediately dismissed as biased, but the world would find some trouble believing that Hope van Dyne, chairman of _Pym Technologies_ and daughter of _Henry Jonathan Pym,_ would be biased _towards_ _Tony Stark._

She really wasn’t, but she couldn’t deny that Stark was in the right on this one. Scott was a goddamned idiot.

Since Hope was not associated with Stark personally but was still connected to the incident, she had the right to state her opinion, and it would carry real weight. The fact that she was speaking out against a close friend _(boyfriend)_ would make her words resonate, for one. Second, she was American herself, which helped — there were several outspoken protesters against Rogers from other countries, especially after Bucharest, but… realistically, Americans only cared about their own citizens, to hell with the rest of the world. And finally, Hope was important enough, in celebrity and in economic power, than people would listen to what she said — both the common man and the businessman or politician fearing for his pocketbook or Senate seat.

And so, she would be the one to speak out first, opening a dialogue, and hopefully, the floodgates. Politicians and world leaders who didn’t have the political capital or the agency to be the first ones to broach the topic of ‘maybe Captain America isn’t the best fucking person who ever lived’ would come out of the woodwork and dig into Rogers too. It would, with any luck, be a bloodbath.

Hope knew in her heart that what she was doing was right. She knew that the speech she made, and everything that would follow — they were a long time coming. Even Hank agreed (he was apparently more pissed about Scott and his suit than about her collaborating with the Starks, though he'd made his disapproval quite vocal. Still, even he held a degree of pity for the man seemingly beaten half to death by a friend in Siberia).

Pym Technologies was in chaos — unlike SI, they couldn’t actually shell out _millions_ of dollars in payouts without seeing a significant hit to their budget, which Hope was trying her _very best_ to subsidize with her personal funds, but… it was coming along. Slowly.

Potts had given her pointers. Hope was reminded that in 2008, Tony Stark had subsidized a great deal of his company’s substantial loss — _no layoffs, no pay cuts, I will cover it_ had been his motto, apparently. Stark had even briefly entered the realm of _debt,_ though of course, his all-new innovations in clean energy and computing soon pushed his personal fortune back up into the millions, billions.

Potts told her to take care with the investors leaving the table and to pick up every bit of stock they were so eager to drop — it would cost a fortune, but when PymTech recovered — _and you will recover, Ms. van Dyne, with our help if necessary_ — Hope would own much more than the controlling interest. Any uptick in stock prices would yield several times the wealth it would have before, and she would have near-complete control over the company. Stark had done the same post-Afghanistan, and following the significant plunge, his net worth skyrocketed — doubled, tripled, quadrupled — he was over fifty billion now, by some estimates. And because he owned practically _all_ of the company, the SI Board of Directors _had_ to bend to his will, from now to the end of fucking time.

Goddamn. Wouldn’t that be nice, she thought. Her Board, on the other hand, wouldn’t fucking let go of how she’d trusted Cross—

—And now she knew how Stark felt about Stane.

Twin bastards, Stane and Cross.

Because of fucking Cross, the PymTech Board didn’t trust her as far as they could throw her, and they looked ready to jump ship at the first sight of financial trouble. They’d made their opinions about subsidizing the RAFT break and Leipzig _very_ clear, but never let it be said that Hope van Dyne was anything but absolutely unshakable.

Potts and Leung had already called to thank her, but Hope had let them go to voicemail. She couldn’t answer, she was just so damn _busy._

She did, however, spare a moment when a contact she was _sure_ she didn’t have on her phone left some… interesting messages.

 

**Hope van Dyne >>**

**27 new messages**

_TS: I gotta say, I was not expecting that_

_TS: Thanks_

_TS: That took balls_

_TS: Wow that was a terrible first impression wasn’t it_

_TS: Let’s just call that a side effect of recovery and pretend it never happened_

_TS: But thanks anyway_

_TS: Look, I know your father and mine never saw eye to eye_

_TS: I don’t know how well you get along with your dad, but I sure as hell never got along with mine_

_TS: So hopefully we’ll do okay_

_TS: The Ant-Man suit was pretty impressive, but you have to admit, “Little-Big Man” is gold-tier comedy_

_TS: Sorry_

_TS: Again, the recovery, I’m sleep deprived, I think I’m hallucinating a little_

_TS: I seriously hope I’m hallucinating, it would be pretty embarrassing if I actually sent this_

_TS: Eh, my reputation’s been through worse_

_TS: The Langs and the people he’s associated with have been relocated to my property in Santa Cruz, because everyone’s least favorite Secretary of State decided that holding children for ransom is totally above board_

_TS: I have half of the Iron Legion in Malibu running defense/surveillance, plus my usual safehouse defenses, which are quite extensive_

_TS: They’re safe for now, but I want to move them out to the Compound soon, where the Bartons are_

_TS: Anyway, I’d be honored to work with you_

_TS: I won’t try to steal your tech if you don’t try to steal mine_

_TS: Thank you for what you’re doing for Leipzig and the RAFT guards_

_TS: You didn’t have to do it but you’re doing it anyway and it’s good, thank you_

_TS: You should read over sections 3.6 and 14.4.5 of the Accords because together, I think they might limit your ability to keep the magic particle stuff confidential if you enter non-EU countries w/ certain trade disclosure sanctions against the US_

_TS: You probably already figured that out_

_TS: Sorry_

_TS: If your dad wants something expensive of Howard’s to demolish (for cathartic purposes), I can have some stuff sent up_

_TS: I hope this was a dream and I didn’t just say that shit to the chairwoman of PymTech_

_TS: So this has been awful, let’s do this again never_

 

Hope wasn’t really quite sure what to do with that.

 

**Outgoing messages (4) >>**

_HD: You’re not hallucinating_

_HD: ...Unfortunately_

_HD: Thank you for the tip on the Accords and for helping with the Langs_

_HD: I look forward to working with you_

 

~~~

 

Hank Pym received some… _interesting_ screenshots, to say the least.

Hope was very particular that he didn’t take Stark up on the offer of trashing Howard’s stuff, which was, really, quite a bummer.

 

* * *

 

_May 8, 2016. 8 days after Siberia._

 

“Breakfast is being served in West Wing Cafeteria 1, Ms. Barton. Waffles and eggs.”

There was a pause as Vision waited by the closed door, shifting somewhat uncomfortably.  
Eventually, Laura Barton’s voice answered his call. “Thank you, Vision. We’ll be out soon.”

“Of course, Ms. Barton. Enjoy your meal.”

Vision turned and walked down the hall, returning to his room by a convoluted route that deliberately kept a wide berth from the gaping holes in the middle of seventeen Compound floors.

Vision felt as if he were standing at the center of a hurricane, standing still as the world rushed around him in a flurry of motion.

Ms. Potts, Mr. Hogan, and Ms. Leung had taken up temporary residence in the West Wing as they readied the corporate killing machine of Stark Industries for war. Colonel Rhodes had seemingly taken after the habits of his best friend and was battling the Secretary of State and the less friendly members of the United Nations from his bedside. The Wakandans were apparently in the midst of battle themselves, judging by the footage Mr. Stark had sent to them via FRIDAY without comment.

The Bartons were acclimating to their new living arrangements, as were the Langs and their associates, though they were still at Stark SH Santa Cruz 2 for now. Dani Love, Mr. Stark’s personal lawyer, was fighting charges of illegal entry from Russia while drafting her own suits against the Rogues. The SI PR Department and Executive Management were in chaos, as was the Board, which appeared around the Compound from time to time. Pym Technologies was helping SI Executive and the Stark Relief Foundation and Damage Control with reconstruction at Leipzig and Bucharest.

The media was in the midst of a… Mr. Stark’s word would be “shitstorm.” Vision thought that was an adequate representation of the way things were looking.

Politics, business, chaos, sensationalism… Vision couldn’t help but feel that he was never made for this world.

He had thought, perhaps, that Wanda understood.

As it turned out, she didn’t. She was the chaos too.

And so, in the days following the Avengers Civil War — as had become the accepted terminology on social media — Vision found himself so utterly alone.

He walked the halls, in moments of weakness, finding his way to the center of the residential East Wing, staring up, staring down, where seventeen floors were halfway to ruins.

The hole felt so empty. Vision, staring in long minutes and hours, felt empty too.

He stayed in his room, most of the time. Cooking could occupy his hands, but not his mind. It still felt empty. There was no one to eat what he had made. No smiles, no laughter.

FRIDAY was the only one he ever really talked to, and it was clear she was spending most of her processing power watching over Mr. Stark. Vision could not begrudge her that; if Mr. Stark had allowed him contact during his blackout, he would be fussing as well.

Mr. Stark, he supposed, was either his father or his grandfather, depending on how you saw Vision’s relationship to JARVIS. Which made Vision either FRIDAY’s nephew or little brother.

Vision decided that they were a… complicated family, and that it was best to leave it at that, but the point was…

Mr. Stark was family.

And so, in the long hours and days he had all to himself, Vision became preoccupied with worry.

Mr. Stark had looked… different, emerging from Extremis. It seemed his major injuries had been healed, and it looked as though he had been de-aged ten or fifteen years. The worry lines and dark circles that marred his face had receded, a little of the color he had lost over the years returned to his face. His hair was darker, fuller, and richer in its chocolate-brown shade, and the thin scars and bruises that had become as permanent a feature of his complexion as his signature goatee had largely disappeared.

Undoubtedly, he would find some creative way to earn back those lost years of stress and pain, but it was nice to know that he had a buffer now.

Vision felt himself powerless to stop him from self-destructing, from locking himself up in his lab and refusing to answer the door. No one could possibly know what Tony was doing down there, but they could be certain it wasn’t healthy. And as soon as he emerged — there was much work to be done, and nothing on Earth (or in the galaxy) could stop Tony Stark from taking on too much of it.

 _Think of the devil,_ FRIDAY pinged him at the back of his mind.

Vision nearly jumped two feet in the air. _FRIDAY,_ Vision replied, startled. _If you would kindly refrain from reading my thoughts._

 _Sorry, Viz,_ said FRIDAY unapologetically. _But there’s something I think you’d wanna see. Boss has some messages for you._

Vision tilted his head in confusion, checking his incoming data stream. Sure enough, there was a file from Mr. Stark.

 _Thank you, FRIDAY,_ he said quietly, waiting for her lingering presence to disappear from the back of his mind before accessing the file.

 

**> >> Vision.sys.incoming_msg(sender=StarkAE, count=11, action=open());**

_StarkAE: Thank you for saving me_

_StarkAE: Thank you for helping the Bartons_

_StarkAE: Tell them I’m sorry_

_StarkAE: Keep them safe_

_StarkAE: Thanks for everything, Vis_

_StarkAE: I’m sorry about Wanda_

_StarkAE: I know she meant a lot to you_

_StarkAE: I know you cared about her_

_StarkAE: But take care of yourself_

_StarkAE: Please, take care of yourself first_

_StarkAE: Everything will be alright_

_StarkAE: I promise_

 

Vision sighed in relief. Mr. Stark was okay. Isolating himself, and seemingly blaming himself for the Bartons’ troubles, but okay nonetheless.

_Take care of yourself first._

That sounded like some advice he should perhaps take heed of himself, but that… that could be addressed later.

_Keep them safe._

Vision could do that, he thought, nodding to himself. He could keep them safe. That was something constructive he could do with his time besides worry and fret. That was what Vision would do.

_I’m sorry about Wanda._

Wanda…

Maximoff. She was Maximoff, at least for now.

And she had put him through seventeen floors…

_Thank you for saving me._

Maximoff had put him through seventeen floors. Captain Rogers had left Mr. Stark to die in Siberia. The Avengers had left behind death and destruction in Lagos, in Bucharest, in Leipzig, at the RAFT…

And in a moment of clarity, Vision knew what he had to do.

With renewed resolve, he turned abruptly and took the quickest route to the ad hoc SI office in the West Wing. On the way, he passed the hole in the ground.

 _You do not scare me,_ he thought furiously. _You cannot destroy me._ He turned away and picked up his pace, taking the stairs two at a time. _I am a Stark. I am not so easily broken._ Without knocking, he barged into the temporary joint office of Pepper Potts and Catherine Leung with uncharacteristic anger and disregard for manners or etiquette. _Like my father before me._

“Ms. Potts,” he said firmly. “Ms. Leung.”

The two women looked up to stare. “Vis—”

“I would like to release the footage of Ms. Maximoff and Mr. Barton’s escape from the Compound,” he cut her off abruptly. “I believe that may help with the recent Public Relations disaster.”

Ms. Leung’s jaw dropped. “Vision… we don’t want you to feel pressured… we know that… _experience…_ was deeply personal, and trau—”

“I am aware of the implications of releasing the footage,” he said firmly. “I would like to do so anyway.” Vision met Ms. Potts’s eyes. “I believe it is time the world learned who their heroes really are, don’t you?”

And Pepper Potts, better than anyone, understood. “Yes. It’s time.”

They sat down to discuss the plans for public release.

Vision didn’t feel empty anymore. He felt something inside him, a fire, for the first time in a long time.

_Everything will be alright._

 

**> >> Vision.sys.OUTPUT(format=SMS, recipient=StarkAE, count=1);**

_VisionOS: Yes, it will._

 

Vision would make sure of it.

 

* * *

 

_May 9, 2016. 9 days after Siberia._

 

“The kid’s loving it, Kathy. Cassie thinks Lady Iron Man is the best thing since sliced bread. She drew a poster of her and everything.”

Catherine chuckled warmly. “Aw, that’s just adorable.”

“It was,” Flynn’s voice sobered quietly on the other end of the line, “until she drew Ant-Man standing next to her. Then it got really quiet, really fast.”

Catherine grimaced. “From what I can tell, Lang’s not going to see the outside of a cell until she’s forty. If he’s lucky.”

Flynn paused, just barely, but enough for Catherine to know what he was asking.

“Flynn, you know I can’t —”

“Just Lang, Kathy. None of the others. Just Lang.”

Catherine sighed. “You know, it’s not like I’m the one writing their actual sentences.”

“Aren’t you, though?”

Catherine pursed her lips. They both knew the truth: she probably was. Public opinion shouldn’t influence objective court rulings, but it did. It did, all the time, especially in high-profile cases. And if this case wasn’t high-profile, nothing was.

In another life, without the massive PR campaign-slash-exposé Catherine and Pepper were brewing into a media shitstorm, the Rogue Avengers might have been cleared on some charges — all, or perhaps even pardoned, if Tony was willing to go to bat for them. They _were_ the Avengers, and front and center was Captain America, the golden boy who could do no wrong. The Little Guy From Brooklyn was facing off against the Big, Bad Government, which was wrongfully persecuting him for exercising his right to cause death and destruction in foreign cities with impunity — which was, of course, the American way.

But with Pepper and Catherine leading the charge, making sure the world knew just how fucked up the Avengers really were? Making sure the world knew just who was suffering because of them? Making sure lawmakers didn’t cave to rhetoric and public pressure? No. No charges would be dropped. There were no second chances, there was no negotiation. The Rogues were done.

And while Pepper and Catherine felt vindicated in their retribution — Pepper, especially — Catherine had to concede that her actions would take a father from his daughter’s life. Albeit one who was willing to leave his child to fight halfway around the world at the drop of a hat, but…

There was one other thing they had to consider.

_Lang might have been working with faulty information._

The background checks on Scott Lang came back… pretty good, actually. Hard-working, loyal, lighthearted guy. Graduated with fairly impressive grades from Princeton with a master’s in electrical engineering. Was happily married with a child when he made his biggest mistake — the VistaCorp job. Catherine hadn’t been at SI when that went down, but apparently multiple people had privately cracked open a beer or two to celebrate — even Tony, or so the rumors said. Vista were assholes, apparently, and thieves as well.

Unfortunately for Lang, that didn’t stop him from being convicted of a crime and doing time in San Quentin. But he seemingly didn’t get bitter about it, and he didn’t lash out or give up. He knew that he’d committed a crime, even if it was for the right reasons, and he owned up to the consequences. And then he worked hard to do better for his daughter, in spite of everything, which was… sweet, honestly.

Which made it a little more unbelievable that he would just — _drop_ everything he’d worked so hard for, _just because_ Captain America said so.

No. Something else was going on here.

Lang had broken the law before when he had proof that he was doing was right, even if it wasn’t legal. If that was his MO, then maybe he wasn’t entirely clear on what the mission at Leipzig was about. Maybe he’d been misled.

Catherine had since found out that Rogers didn’t actually tell Sam Wilson about the deal Tony had offered them after Bucharest, and she had to assume that that was because he might have seen reason and taken it. Rogers lied about the deal… who knew what else he lied about?

Which reminded her…

“You said Lang knew Wilson?”

“Yeah. This guy, Luis? Says they were in touch after the crap with Cross went down. Still don’t know whether Wilson or Rogers was the one to call Lang, but Wilson would be the one who knew his number.”

Catherine hummed. If Wilson was operating with faulty information and called Lang, then Lang was misinformed as well. And if Rogers was the one to call… well, Catherine had a feeling that Rogers would have no trouble prevaricating when it suited him.

Lang and Wilson being in touch also lent a bit more to the reason why he would find himself in Leipzig — it was likely they had an agreement: you help me if I need it, and I’ll watch your back too. Those sorts of things weren’t uncommon among contacts. It was how her partnership with Flynn started, a lifetime ago.

So, as vindictive as she might feel, there was a chance that Lang was… not entirely in the clear, but not entirely deserving of condemnation and the full weight of the ruthless vengeance of Stark Industries. Not deserving of perhaps never seeing his daughter again.

Catherine considered her options. If she were to go the full PR ruination route, there would be no turning back. Those slights against his reputation would stay with Lang for the rest of his life, no matter how much he tried redeeming himself or proving them wrong. She could finish him. Forever. She could tear his life to ruins.

In doing so, she’d probably also ruin Cassie as well. Their family. Their hope. Their future.

How could she, in good conscience, do that to a man who had yet to have the chance to plead his case, to a handful of innocent bystanders in this whole affair, and to a child?

Especially given that Lang wasn’t a part of the Avengers while they traipsed around the world collecting collapsed buildings like experience points. This wasn’t his second or third chance…

Catherine set her jaw. “I’ll see what I can do, Flynn.”

He sighed in relief. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“And who am I to deny you what you ask, Panhandle?”

Flynn sighed exasperatedly. “Again, with the Panhandle thing? Are you ever going to let that go?”

_(It was a long story.)_

_(Flynn was in a pissy mood when they were ambushed one day, and he decapitated an enemy agent with a panhandle.)_

_(They were in Oklahoma at the time. Catherine appreciated the irony perhaps more than the dead body warranted.)_

_(They had once led very different lives, Catherine mused.)_

“The family is also wondering about relocation. I told them I’d get back to them. Any news on that front?”

Catherine clicked her tongue. “You know protocol, Panhandle. Tony supervises all relocations with a threat index greater than 2.8. And he’s still MIA.”

Flynn paused. “How’s he doing?”

“Not sure. He’s locked himself in his lab. Apparently Vision’s made contact, and so has Christine Everhart. Beyond that? FRIDAY’s given us proof of life, and she promised Pepper she’d do her best to boot him out after two weeks. But… something went down. He needs time to process. Wonderful as she is, I don’t think Pepper, or anyone else for that matter, really gets that.”

Catherine understood, and she knew Flynn did too.

Trauma meant isolating yourself.

Too much isolation was a bad thing, sure, but people needed distance to recover. She didn’t remember talking to anyone at all for three weeks after she was extracted from North Korea after WidowLeaks went down, even in a penthouse at Stark Tower Japan filled to the brim with 150-plus SHIELD agents — many just as deeply traumatized as herself.

If Tony needed to isolate, let him isolate. Let him comfort himself however he needed to. Let him build or cry or do whatever he wanted, whatever brought him solace. Sure, pushing people away wasn’t exactly healthy, but Catherine knew better than anyone that sometimes, you just can’t handle ‘healthy’. Sometimes, things just get too bad for a healthy response, and you just have to cope through the worst of it. Whatever that means. (Not to say that you shouldn’t do your best to settle into more healthy coping mechanisms after the initial trauma recedes, but… you get to have your emotional meltdown. You’re entitled to breaking down every once in a while.)

So if Tony was easing himself back into the outside world, they should give him time. Mental recovery was still recovery.

“He’ll be back on his feet when he’s ready.”

“You didn’t see it?” Flynn asked, surprised.

“See what?” she inquired.

“The email.”

“What email?”

“Tony sent out a company email. To everyone. The gist of it is: he’s taking a ridiculously short, _partial_ leave of absence, he’s barely slowing down to take a breath, and he’s opening a new division of SI.”

“He’s opening a new _what?”_

“Division. You heard me right.”

“Wait, what? What — what is it?”

“Didn’t specify, just said ‘prepare for major expansions and the construction of a new division’. Rumor in Tactical Security is, Medical.”

The realization dawned on her. “Rhodes.”

“Yup.” Flynn popped the ‘p’, but his voice lacked its usual mirth. “Accounting thinks it’s Space Tech, but even they aren’t convinced.”

“The timing’s wrong.”

“Yeah. Plus, if I had to bet on one department to be the most perceptive about these things, I’d go with TacSec.”

The department of purely former SHIELD field agents. Yeah, her money was on them too.

“I’m pissed,” Flynn muttered abruptly. “I bet Jonathan Lyon from New York fifty bucks that the next division would be in quantum mechanics. But I also bet him another twenty that the next one would pop up within three months of the last, and how long’s it been since Nanotech went global?”

“Less than two.”

Flynn whistled. “Damn, we’re good. So yeah, I’m losing thirty. But I know it’s one of the categories at the Grand SI Betting Pool in Malibu, and a bunch of people are losing more.”

“The Next Division is a drinking game in New York, but the SI International Betting Pool has it as a category for gambling too.”

“Heard SI International bets get up into the tens of thousands.”

“The one about when the armor would get up to mach 10 went for $104K. The data analytics guys at my end spent weeks going over their little timeline they set up for the evolution of the Iron Man armor. It was insane.”

“Did they win?” Catherine giggled.

“Lost, by two weeks, to Tel Aviv Marketing.”

“Oh my God. Tel —”

“Yeah. I know. _Tel Aviv Marketing._ The department whose chair once got drunk and called all his most dickish clients and told them to fuck themselves.”

Catherine doubled over laughing. “Wait, why didn’t he ever get fired?”

Flynn hummed. “Tony was impressed by his… creativity with profanity, and his ability to chew people out in Hebrew, Arabic, and English at once. Plus, he said he’d wanted to drop those clients anyway.”

“That’s probably not good business practice,” said Catherine in mock disapproval.

“It certainly isn't. Which is what makes it good business practice. Oh, but the best part was — after the mach 10 thing, SI International Betting created a category for ‘Iron Man: World Domination’, and there’s a forum where people are arguing when he’ll be an overlord.”

“Stark Industries is a fucking mess, isn’t it,” Catherine muttered.

“Yeah, we are,” Flynn declared proudly. A pause, then his voice dropped. “In many ways. This is war, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. The fact that Tony isn’t trying to defend them…”

Tony Stark was one of the most forgiving and compassionate people she knew, but when he washed his hands of you… he meant it.

He was a kind man, but he’d _earned_ his vindictive streak.

(The Ten Rings were a series of smoldering craters in the ground.)

“They’re done,” Flynn muttered.

“They’re done,” she confirmed.

There was a long pause before either of them spoke again.

“Give my love to the Langs,” said Catherine softly. “I’ll send a Lady Iron Man action figure for Cassie.”

“She’ll love it,” she could hear his grin through the phone. “I love you, Kathy.”

_(After a mission in Petersburg went way south seven years ago, they’d decided that they’d never hang up on each other, never leave each other without saying they loved one another. North Korea just solidified their ingrained tradition. No, they weren’t dating — Catherine didn’t swing that way, anyway — but she loved him like a brother. For a long time, they were all the other had in the world. They were family._

_She’d love Flynn until her dying day, and he’d love her until his. She just knew it.)_

“Love you too, Panhandle.”

The line clicked dead.

With a heavy sigh, Catherine gathered her things in her purse, logging off of her computer in her office _pro temporare_ at Avengers Compound. She glanced out the window behind her at the dark night sky that lay beyond: she hadn’t gone home before 10 o’clock in the evening since Lagos, and she didn’t expect that to change anytime soon. She was fucking exhausted.

Passing Pepper’s office, she waved through the glass doors. “Good night!”

Pepper looked up, uncharacteristic eye bags on her face. It was such an uncommon sight on Pepper, Catherine nearly jumped back. (Nearly. She did have a little tact. Sometimes.)

“Good night, Catherine,” Pepper gave her a weary but warm smile. “Get some rest. We take on the Senate tomorrow.”

Catherine shuddered lightly. “You too, Pep.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” She slipped out into the hall, and FRIDAY silently brought her down the elevator to the garage. She flipped open her phone and scrolled through to her email app.

 

**_Inbox: 4,098 new messages >> _ **

 

Yeah, she kind of expected that.

 

_Search by Sender: Tony Stark_

**From Tony Stark; 05/09/2016, 10:03pm; Subject: [SI Executive] To Be Addressed**

**From Tony Stark; 05/09/2016, 09:59pm; Subject: [SI Public Relations] PR Updates and Reminders**

**From Tony Stark; 05/09/2016, 09:49pm; Subject: [All SI Employees] May Briefing**

**From Tony Stark; 04/28/2016, 08:13am; Subject: [Stark Tower 43rd Floor] New fucking printers!!**

**From Tony Stark; ...**

 

Considering for a moment, Catherine picked the email addressed to all SI employees. The May Briefing.

 

 **From: Tony Stark; CTO, Head of R &D, Chairman  
** **To: All Stark Industries Employees  
** **Subject: [All SI Employees] May Briefing**

_Stark Industries,_

_I am writing to let you know that I will be taking a leave of absence from some of my duties at Stark Industries, both for a period of medical recovery and in order to take care of a few other pressing issues that now demand my time and attention. I appreciate your understanding and support during this time, and I hope to return to work full time by **June 1.**_

_However, please know that my absence will not impede most of the normal operations of the company. In particular:_

  1. _Requests for new software and interface upgrades will still be processed and completed by **June 1.** I have received requests from Marketing for new graphics software, R &D for better wireframe models, and Analytics for more intuitive modeling interfaces, but apart from those three, I have yet to hear any more. Please get those in to me ASAP. The hard deadline for this quarter’s software upgrades is **May 20.** Please also note that all systems that need to be upgraded will go offline for **one minute at 11:55 UTC on June 1.** Plan accordingly._
  2. _We are sticking to the established timeline for the rebranding initiative. **June 1** will remain the change day. Graphics, Analytics, and PR should all familiarize themselves with the new style guide (posted on the Really Big Bulletin Boards and online) in order to avoid any inconsistency with the new look we’re giving the company. Web Development: please continue to run diagnostics on the new servers and site._
  3. _Holotable installations for lower divisions will proceed as planned at Seoul and Tel Aviv. Expect extremely minor setbacks in Malibu._
  4. _Construction of the new Istanbul branch will proceed as planned._
  5. _The water purifier in Malibu is up to schedule._



_However, due to the recent crisis, some procedures will be set back. Note that:_

  1. _Requests for transfers to the new nanotech division are being put on hold until **May 17.** You may, however, continue to submit the necessary forms._
  2. _Construction of the particle accelerator in Stark Tower New York will be set back by two weeks._
  3. _Generally, Legal and PR might be slow to respond to any internal company matters at the current time, since they have a lot on their plate._



_Once again, I cannot thank you enough for your continued support and dedication. I look forward to seeing you all again soon._

_More in-depth briefings have been sent out by department. Please check those ASAP, as many contain crucial information._

_Regards,_

_Tony Stark_  
_CTO, Head of R &D, Chairman_  
_Stark Industries_

 _[Translate this message:_ _Mandarin_ _Spanish_ _French_ _Hebrew_ _Cantonese_ _Arabic_ _more >> _ _]_

 

Well damn.  

In all honesty, Catherine shouldn’t be surprised. Tony never slowed down, everyone knew that. Tony Stark never quit.

She breathed a sigh of relief into the cool night air. Unhealthy as Tony’s workaholic tendencies were, it was a comfort to have that small piece of normalcy; for it to be business as usual. And of course, to know that he was safe.

Though Tony refused to let her acknowledge it, she was forever in his debt. He’d made sure she was safe, that Flynn was safe, two years ago. Even after that initial extraction, he supported thousands of burned SHIELD agents for months, even years afterwards. He gave them stable, secure jobs, when it was their fate to spent the rest of their lives in hiding or on the run. He saved her from brutal torture. So yeah, she was pretty invested in his recovery.

So the predictable hit-the-ground-running attitude was a welcome sight, but also, a bit of a worrying one.

Was this going to end up just another blip on the radar? Was this another catastrophe that Tony would fight day and night to keep from spiraling into chaos? Would Tony protect the people who spit on him, spit on the world?

Would Tony forgive the Avengers?

If this was business as usual, then… yes. He’d forgiven them after SHIELD, after Ultron, after Lagos. Why should this time be any different?

But it _was_ different. Catherine truly believed it.

It was inevitable: the weight of the Avengers’ transgressions would one day crush the man carrying the burden. Something had to give, sooner or later. And the fight at Leipzig, the Accords… maybe that time was now.

Catherine didn’t think her heart could take it if it wasn’t. The only reason she hadn’t shot Romanoff where she stood when once she appeared in the lobby of Avengers _(Stark)_ Tower was because she’d assumed the data breach was some kind of misunderstanding, or was truly the only option available to her. Missions went south — Catherine got that. And the complete infiltration of SHIELD — that was one hell of a south.

She’d always thought there was more to the story than Romanoff or the Avengers let on. That was what everyone thought — hell, it was probably what kept Romanoff alive all these years. They’d thought that Senate hearing was her making a blind bluff, saying what had to be said to keep herself from charges of treason. Sure, Catherine hated her for what she’d done — _despised_ her, would never forgive her — but she'd never, _ever_ believed that Romanoff would have thought that she was right. That she was justified.

But now…

The past few days had been sullen and quiet at Stark Industries for many reasons, but one of the worst truths that had come to light for the ex-SHIELD and their friends was that Romanoff felt _nothing_ for them.

No guilt, no remorse, not a shred of self-doubt.

Nothing.

She wasn’t _bullshitting_ her way through that Senate hearing, she genuinely _believed_ that what she did was right.

All their suffering meant _nothing._

Catherine would be fucking pissed if Tony forgave them this time.

_Would he?_

And just as she asked herself that question, a small text message appeared at the top of her lock screen that answered it.

 

**Catherine Leung >>**

**7 new messages**

_TS: So Pepper enlisted you_

_TS: And Flynn_

_TS: I have to say, that wouldn’t have been my first choice_

_TS: You’ve both been through so much already_

_TS: If you want out for any reason, don’t hesitate_

_TS: That said_

_TS: Bury them for me_

_TS: Bury them all_

 

Catherine smiled.

“Give me Russo from Pennsylvania’s 1st,” she commanded into her phone.

 

**Outgoing messages (1) >>**

_CL: I will_

 

* * *

 

_May 10, 2016. 10 days after Siberia._

 

Jim Rhodes had had the worst two weeks of his goddamned life.

First, the UN legislation he’d worked on for a _year and a half_ as the liaison from the Air Force, Stark Industries, and the Iron Legion was summarily _ignored_ by the Avengers, despite being _publicly available_ for two years and _directly concerning_ them. Then, he had to go apprehend Captain America, Bucky Barnes, and the king of Wakanda after that little troupe killed half a GSG squad and collapsed a tunnel on civilians for… reasons. Then, he had to help Tony coordinate relief efforts and fight to keep aforementioned Troupe of Terrorists from being thrown in a Romanian prison, never to be seen or heard from again. This, of course, did not fly well with the ambassadors and officials he’d spent _years_ developing political capital with.

And _then,_ when he and Tony went to apprehend the _literal fugitives,_ an airplane hangar got destroyed…

And Jim was paralyzed.

Just like that.

_Paralyzed._

He’d always known it could happen, he thought, somewhat bitterly. He’d always known it was a risk.

Since that day he left for the Air Force Academy twenty-five years ago, he’d known that there might come a day when he wouldn’t come home, or he’d come home without a limb, in a wheelchair, permanently scarred.

Knowing it intellectually was different from living it, though.

He hated this _fucking wheelchair._

Sure, it was easy enough to ignore when he had bigger things to worry about — Tones in a burning metal cocoon, for one — and then the immediate fallout, with the UN and in Washington.

But now?

Now, when he had to struggle to get around anywhere besides the Compound, the Tower, and select wheelchair-accessible government buildings? Now, when the brass was tiptoeing around him, trying to find a way to subtly and tactfully broach the subject of an honorary discharge? Now, when there was a list of candidates for a replacement for War Machine?

Now, when Jim Rhodes, who’d dreamt of running, of flying away into the sky, would never walk or fly again?

_Oh, god._

Jim finally understood why Tony locked himself in his lab and worked day and night when shit hit the fan. It was so much, _so much better_ to be consumed by work than to lie still, letting the horror and pain wash over him.

Which was how he found himself not on bedrest but rather in what used to be the Avengers’ Quinjet in transit to Geneva while hopped up on pain meds, on a video call with the Romanian UN delegate, Ambassador Alexandrescu, and Prime Minister Cojoc, coordinated relief efforts in Bucharest.

“Colonel,” Alexandrescu started cautiously and diplomatically, which never boded well, “as grateful as we are to have your assistance in this matter, are you certain that you are legally allowed to provide us access to Dr. Stark’s personal funds for reconstruction? You could make an argument for Stark Industries’ funds, as liaison, but…”

“Mr. Ambassador, I assure you, Mr. Stark won’t mind. He gave us specific instructions to assist in any way we can.” 

“Those instructions… they wouldn’t happen to be in writing, would they?” asked Cojoc tentatively.

“No, but I can promise that Tony isn’t going to challenge this.” They both looked skeptical, which… fair. Not many people, even billionaires, let their friends wire-transfer tens of millions to reconstruct a city — a city he actually didn’t have a hand in destroying — without his explicit consent. And Tony’s generosity wasn’t exactly as well-publicized as his faults. Jim sighed heavily. “Look, if anything, Tony will be mad that _all_ of the relief budget wasn’t taken out of his bank account. He’ll be pretty pissed your government is paying anything at all, and he hates that every time SI covers one of these things, his employees are put at risk.”

Cojoc nodded slowly, in the way most foreign government officials did when they finally came to face with the _real_ Tony Stark. It made sense, Jim supposed — before Tones became Iron Man, the only relationship he’d had with heads of state abroad was as a ruthless businessman, a weapons dealer, the Merchant of Death; the man who was the reason none of them could ever cross the United States — but that surprise still rankled, every time.

“Even so, we would like to confirm with Dr. Stark that the payment is acceptable to him, as soon as possible,” Alexandrescu said.

Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Tony is currently recovering from severe injury and trauma. He won’t be available for a while.”

“As are you, Colonel,” Alexandrescu pointed out. “I don’t mean to pry, and I’m inclined to believe you… but we would like to avoid a legal suit for receiving stolen money on top of our other issues at present. And, of course, we would like to be able to confirm the wellbeing of the man sending us aid.”

Jim slumped a little at that, and that spark of righteous anger drained out of him. He knew the Romanians weren’t the people he was really angry at, but he was so riled up nowadays that, really, any slight against himself or Tony rubbed him the wrong way.

“Colonel Rhodes, we must ask: can we be absolutely certain that this offer will not be revoked?” asked Cojoc reluctantly. It was clear he was desperate and certainly did not want to challenge the offer of any aid at all, legal or no, but he did anyway.

“Yeah, yeah. Money’s all yours.”

“Well, then… thank you very much.” Alexandrescu straightened his jacket and made to stand up. “Please send our heartfelt gratitude to Dr. Stark, and we wish you both a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you, Ambassador. We look forward to working with you.” And Jim really did — these people were fucking reasonable, unlike the bureaucratic shitshow that was the U.S. and the State Department under Thaddeus Ross.

The call ended.

That went okay, Jim thought.

Another ten minutes passed in silence before the jet on autopilot landed in Geneva. Ten minutes, as Jim gazed at the skies outside his window, knowing he would only ever be a passenger in a plane watching them pass by, and never again the pilot soaring through them.

Quinjet Four docked.

Jim made the trip to the Geneva Headquarters of the UN in silence, and his SI-paid limo driver had the tact not to ask. Jim busied himself going over Pepper, Happy, and Catherine’s plans, not to mention the divisional corporate emails Tony had sent out last night.

It didn’t miss Jim that Tony was overly contrite in his message to the staff: _'I cannot thank you enough for your continued support and dedication'_ did not sound like anything the Tony Stark of ten years ago, or even the Tony Stark of two years ago, would ever say. Did he really feel the need to apologize about the Avengers’ failures, about the bad publicity, about his leave of absence after being _beaten to near death and abandoned in fucking Siberia?_

Don’t get Jim wrong, he was so happy at Tony’s growth over the past few years as Iron Man, and he was so proud of his friend’s commitment to being better, all 'selfless and heroic' and shit, but this… was over the top.

 _Come on, Tones,_ he pleaded silently. _Be a dick._

He’d arrived at the UN HQ, the air unusually chilly and the sky an abnormal grey for this time of May. Jim, like Tony, had never been particularly superstitious, but he could appreciate a bit of good irony when it appeared. This legislation was supposed to pave the way for a better future, a sustainable dynamic between the Enhanced and the government. Now, Jim looked to the future, and it seemed dismal.

“Colonel Rhodes,” French Ambassador Dupont greeted warmly at the entrance. “We are all so glad that you could make it, despite... recent events.”

Dupont was a short old fellow with thinning black hair and a well-maintained mustache. With that twinkle in his eye, he gave the impression of one of those kindly elderly men from an idyllic suburban neighborhood that makes conversation with the mailman and waves at the kids riding their bikes by his house. _Sure pick for the Council,_ Jim noted. _Well-liked, Western enough for the US to support, and an exceptionally productive bureaucrat. Fairly unbiased, outspoken on the issues, but equally magnanimous in his efforts for Enhanced rights._ That, and he was one of the most popular UN ambassadors ever. Champion of human rights and social change, and all that. _Better to suck up._

“Ambassador Dupont,” Jim inclined his head diplomatically. “I only wish I were here under better circumstances.”

“Yes, indeed,” Dupont sighed. He was warm, but a tired old man all the same. “As I understand it, you are also here to coordinate relief and reconstruction for Lagos, Vienna, Bucharest, Leipzig, and the RAFT?”

“I am.”

Dupont raised an eyebrow. “That seems like something your ambassador, or even your, ah… Secretary of State, should handle.”

Jim didn’t miss the contempt with which the French ambassador referred to Ross. He was not the most popular man, at the UN in particular, especially ever since the other ambassadors caught on to how he was strongarming and essentially blackmailing Tony with his 36-hour deadline. That, and how he kept trying to assume control of the entire system despite _not even being the U.S. Ambassador,_ rubbed many other countries as distinctly American.

Jim also didn’t miss the implication that despite the fact that Ross was in Geneva as well, Jim would be the unofficial U.S. Ambassador with whom the real business would be conducted. Because, name a single UN ambassador who didn’t hate Ross.

(Maybe Romania. He earned some brownie points with them when he threatened shoot-to-kill orders on Cap and Barnes. Romania hated them more than they hated Ross… but they also loved Tony right now. Who knew. Politics.)

“Perhaps,” Jim finally responded. “But they won’t, apparently,” and Jim’s week had been too long for him to even _try_ to hide his disgust, “so I’m here. Recently paralyzed, but here.”

Dupont nodded sympathetically, but not pityingly, which Jim appreciated. “Come. There is much to discuss.”

That was a fucking understatement.

The Accords Council members were voted in, the temporary one created in the wake of the Bucharest incident having been dissolved (because really, they hadn’t thought that they’d need a disaster council _that soon)_ and a permanent one required by Section I.2.i to be established for a period of two years. A council from nineteen member states with “diverse political and ethnic representations” _(read: not just Western states crossing every border in Africa with impunity — looking at you, Cap)._

Dupont actually became Chairman of the Council, which meant he would officiate, get certain executive rights in a time-crunch situation, have a great deal of the responsibility of coordinating with local governments and militaries… plus, appointing military and command strategists to advise on Avengers protocols while also not showing affiliation to any particular government…

Man, Jim did not envy Dupont. He had his work cut out for him.

Japan and Singapore were two other landslide appointments, and Jim figured that had something to do with trade deals behind closed doors, but no matter. Japan and Singapore were good stabilizera, at any rate, and good economic partners for Stark Industries.

Nigeria, South Africa, Germany, Romania, and Austria all got confirmed by a wide margin, and though in theory it was probably not good to turn over control to five countries who were _very_ angry about the Avengers, no one could really deny them. Jim was sure that if Sokovia had a stable ambassador, they’d be selected as well.

The ambassador from Botswana got thrown in the mix, too. She’d been fairly outspoken about the issues, and most of the UN could admit that the two African delegations, Nigeria and South Africa, were pretty biased anti-Avengers, given the events in Lagos and Johannesburg, and they wanted a bit of a balance from every continent. Wakanda would likely have been that stabilizing force before, but now… well, not if Alexandrescu’s death glare had anything to say about it. Luckily, the Wakandan ambassador could take a hint. He made the token request, then promptly backed off.

Russia, surprisingly enough, was selected. Jim figured it was meant as more of a “fuck you” to the U.S. than anything else, seeing as the only involvement the Russians could claim to have was a tangential (and not necessarily good) claim to Natasha Romanoff, and potentially the incident in Siberia.

That was another thing. The Russian ambassador, Kuznetsov, had approached SI about charges against Tony for illegal entry, but he’d looked like he was about to piss his pants, and one harsh look from Pepper scared him off. Russia wasn’t exactly the first country you’d expect to run off with its tail in between its legs at the first sign of trouble, until you remembered that Stark Industries was their weapons-manufacturing enemy in the Cold War.

And apparently, whatever happened behind closed doors before the Berlin Wall fell and Tony assumed the throne of SI’s CEO scared the shit out of the Russians.

Whenever Jim had tried to bring it up with Tony, he’d either given him a look that said _you really don’t want to know_ or a slightly strained “plausible deniability, Rhodey-bear, gotta hold onto that plausible deniability,” so Jim figured it wasn’t all altruism.

It was arms dealing in the Cold War. What, really, did he expect?

But what hit Rhodey a little too hard was the fact that Tony was apparently _involved_ in that business as a kid. He’d since learned that “Merchant of Death” wasn’t a name Tony earned as an adult military contractor, but as a _ten-year-old child._ Oh, sure, the name hadn’t reached the public yet, but it was in the whispers of Reagan-era administration officials, of Soviet weapons channels… the warlords who feared a child.

That, combined with the fact that Tones never really talked about his childhood, the fact that he’d always known how to build a gun or a missile from scraps, the fact that he’d already had a worrying dependency on alcohol at MIT, just fourteen… and the fact that Russian officials ducked and ran whenever Tony was involved…

Jim couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful that whatever went down back then scared off Kuznetsov enough to drop the charges, but it was… _troubling,_ to say the least, and it was always one of those things he’d never been able to talk about with Tony…

Jim made a note of it to himself. They’d both been close to death enough times that he should just bite the bullet and have the difficult talk. He’d always regret it if he didn’t.

But maybe after this whole Accords thing was settled.

So: France, Japan, Singapore, South Africa, Nigeria, Austria, Romania, Germany, Botswana, Russia. That left ten countries.

The US was shut down, _fast._ When the delegations in opposition were asked to voice their reasons for their rejection of Ross, the UN General Assembly turned into a who’s-who of a resounding _Fuck You, Thunderbitch,_ and it was the best thing that had happened in two weeks. Ross turned a hilarious shade of puce purple-red _(FRIDAY, who was in Jim’s glasses, informed him that his blood pressure had spiked to dangerous levels; ‘good,’ thought Jim viciously),_ and Jim noted with delight that Dupont and Alexandrescu were trying and failing to not crack up. Jim signalled FRIDAY to queue the footage for Tony.

So when that ended, and the obligatory ten-minute recess had passed (it was really just a diplomatic measure to avoid the potential liabilities of a state official going into cardiac arrest on the UN floor), they continued.

Canada was the North American pick, the US having rather dramatically fallen out of the UN’s favor and Mexico’s government having recently undergone a series of corruption and tax fraud scandals that left every other  country quickly distancing itself from that administration. Jim might have previously contested the US being excluded from the Council, given that every Avenger was a US resident, and most were citizens and had some affiliation with its government or military, but… one, the guy with the American flag on his chest just ripped through four countries and a prison; two, who even were the Avengers now; and three… Ross.

So yeah, he could concede Canada. Some genuine politeness in a political setting would be a welcome change from DC, at any rate.

Peru got on the Council, since their ambassador was active in the writing of the Accords. Switzerland, because _someone_ needed to be neutral in this shitshow. Yemen, who Jim was happy to note would be an ally, because they were very grateful to Tony for stabilizing the Middle East back in 2009.

Sri Lanka, Tajikistan, Myanmar.

The last three spots went to the Dominican Republic, Panama, and Jamaica, seeing as Central America and the Caribbean were still recovering from last fall's hurricane, and were requesting superhuman assistance in moving some of the fallen buildings and whatnot.

And now, they had a nineteen-member council to help out.

France, Japan, Singapore, South Africa, Nigeria, Austria, Romania, Germany, Botswana, Russia, Canada, Peru, Switzerland, Yemen, Sri Lanka, Tajikistan, Myanmar, the Dominican Republic, Panama, Jamaica.

Not bad. A little skewed anti-Avengers, but that was to be expected. A little heavy on certain regions and a bit exclusive of others, but again, to be expected. It would do for the next two years until the seats came up for reelection. FRIDAY forwarded Tony the news.

After that, it was reconstruction with Nigeria, Austria, Romania, Germany, and several nations concerned about the RAFT, in turn. He went through the same motions five times: Tony Stark will pay most, if not all, of the damages and reconstruction; medical is covered, insurance is covered, economic problems that result are covered; yes, he knew the damages were into the hundreds of millions; we can help coordinate relief efforts, we have experts through SI and Tony’s personal connections; until further notice, you coordinate with me; no comment from Tony Stark at this time.

By the time it was all done, Jim was fucking exhausted and about ready to sleep for the next three days. Which, of course, wasn’t possible, because he had a meeting in DC with the President in three hours, and Jim never thought he could hate Tony’s innovation so much because _why would you make something that allows you the great privilege of stuffing your schedule with more meetings?_

Dupont, now Chairman Dupont, saw him off that evening. Jim congratulated him on the election, to which Dupont simply laughed and said, “My only qualification was being marginally less unsuited for the role than my counterparts.” It reminded Jim of something Tony had said a few times over the years — _Jesus fuck, Rhodey-bear, I swear to God, I’m only a genius because everyone else is so fucking stupid — can you believe this bullshit? Can you? Because I sure as fuck can’t! God, I hate stupid people, save me honey bear_ — so Jim chuckled and replied, “I think that’s how a lot of great people change the world.”

Dupont smiled warmly, the laugh lines on his greying face forming crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You speak from experience, do you not?”

The corner of Jim’s lip twitched upward. “I do.”

Dupont clapped him on the shoulder. “Take care, Colonel Rhodes.”

“You too, Mr. Dupont.”

~~~

Jim had been smiling as he made his way back to the limo, onto QJ-4, back to the States. It wasn’t often he met a truly kind person in his military/political career, but it always left a warm feeling in his chest when he did. Knowing there was someone out there fighting for what was right. _Heroes._

Of course, there was nothing like D.C. to blow that particular dream of his to shit.

~~~

“For the last _fucking_ time, I am _not_ Tony Stark, and I will _not_ just _give you_ his goddamned money!”

Okay, Jim knew he was being a little hypocritical here — he’d _just_ given Alexandrescu Tony’s money, plus three other countries while he was at it — but _fuck,_ those guys were getting aid for the suffering families of the dead, for the reconstruction of their demolished cities.

This bastard?

 _This bastard here_ was asking him to give him _Tony’s_ money to find and hire a _replacement for War Machine._

Just…

Fuck you.

Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.

Jim knew they’d have to broach the subject eventually, but… with a _little_ more tact? With a _little_ less of the overall shittiness that he’d come to associate with the U.S. Senate? The House wasn’t even that bad at present, but the current Senate was a fucking mess full of fucking bastards who are asking him to _steal_ his friend’s money and resources — his _best friend,_ who just got beat up and left to die in the freezing cold and then Extremis’ed — to _vet and hire a replacement for War Machine._

The general accompanying Senator Hunt from Georgia looked ridiculously uncomfortable for a hardened soldier and commander like himself, and he sent as many contrite looks Jim’s way as he could get away with professionally.

In all honesty, Jim knew the _best_ thing to do would be to face the problem of his paralysis head-on, but…

One: who knew if Tony would ever let another person in his suit? Pepper, maybe, and Jim always figured Harley might pick up the mantle of Iron Man when he turned eighteen, but Tony wouldn’t ever even _consider_ putting another Air Force guy in the suit. The brass had tried. Extensively. There was no swaying him.

And two… Tony made miracles. That was what he did. Maybe, just maybe… Jim couldn’t help but cling to the hope that… remote-controlled armor? AI-assisted movement? During that shit with the Mandarin, the suit that saved the passengers on Air Force One was remote-controlled, except for the fact that movement was still required… maybe Tony could figure out how to do it without the legs… it was a stretch, Rhodey knew, but still. Still. He knew that Tony would go to the ends of the earth for him, and he knew no law of physics could deter him.

So yeah, he was holding out hope. Sue him. He was entitled to a little hope.

Hope which Senator Dickhead was dead-set on killing, apparently.

“I’m just saying, Mr. Colonel,” continued the dickhead from Georgia, clearly oblivious to the sheer brazen dickishness of his dickish behavior, “You _have_ left us in a bit of a pickle.”

Jim saw red.

“Senator,” the general muttered quietly, his fist clenched, and Jim remembered how General Page had lost his field partner to an accident during recovery following a paralysis.

“I — I just want us to face the facts here,” Senator Dickhead postured aggressively.

Page couldn’t stop his full-facial wince.

_Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, burn in hell, motherfucker, fuck you._

And at that, the President burst hurriedly into the room. “Thank you — _thank you,_ Senator, that will be _all —_ thank you, too, General —” he leaned in slightly to General Page’s ear, “— damage control, you hear me, oh god —” he turned to face Jim. “Colonel Rhodes! So sorry about — about the — _fuck,”_ Ellis muttered.

“Mr. President,” Jim greeted coolly. “Thank you, General,” he met Page’s eyes as he left the room, and was met with a commiserating glance before the door closed.

“Ah… Colonel,” the President took the seat across from Jim, who was at the head of the table, and didn’t that say quite a bit? “It’s… been a trying few weeks.”

“It’s been more trying for some of us than others,” Jim said coldly.

“Ah,” Ellis winced, “you noticed.”

“I did.”

“Colonel…” and they both knew what Ellis was here to ask for, the president sitting literally _beneath_ a lowly colonel/corporate liaison. He looked up at Jim’s eyes to be met with an a cold, apathetic eyebrow raise.

Jim was going to make him say it.

“...I might… need your help.”

“You might, might you?” Jim was unimpressed.

“Yes. …You see, I’ve found myself in a bit of… political trouble.”

“Ah,” Jim repeated Ellis’s oh-so-eloquent words from before right back at him. “You noticed.”

Ellis knew better than to respond to that. He stared down at the hardwood table silently with the air of a man who knew his political career, his life’s work, was in shambles.

“Mr. President, you can’t honestly believe I’ll throw Tony under the bus for you.”

Ellis looked up, panicked. “No, no, Colonel — certainly not, I’d never —”

Jim silenced him with a raised hand, and _fuck,_ it felt good to shut the president up with a wave of his hand. “Of course you wouldn’t. You just want us to go a little… less _Leung_ with our PR campaign.”

Ellis stared down at the table.

Jim had to give him credit. He tried. Kind of.

“Mr. President, in what world did you honestly think the _World War II propaganda_ route would really work for you?”

Which was what had put them in this situation in the first place.

You see, Ellis was elected on a single platform: he would defend the United States at all costs.

The first weeks of his presidency were marked by a distinct lack of United-States-defending from one newly-elected President Ellis. His VP was conspiring with the terrorists, he got himself kidnapped _in the paintjob’ed Iron Patriot,_ and Iron Man Tony Stark and Colonel James Rhodes had to save the day — _without_ their suits. While one of their houses got destroyed and the other was attacked at work by fire-breathing Extremis crazies.

Not the best publicity for the first hundred days.

And then, SHIELDRA’s collapse: the complete infiltration of all US government agencies might not have been Ellis’s _fault,_ per se, but it sure as shit didn’t look _good_ when his Secretary of State started taking shots at his new VP while screaming his allegiance to an ancient Nazi spy regime.

Oh, and the patriot Captain America who Ellis had been so vocal in his support of? Threw three helicarriers into the Potomac. No biggie.

Oh, also! General anti-establishment sentiment when it came out that _the nuke sent to Manhattan was supposed to lay waste to all of New York, it was not a coordinated effort with Iron Man, no, that was just Tony “hey, I kind of have a problem with total nuclear annihilation” Stark sacrificing his life on the fly —_

Combine all of _that_ with a complete and utter lack of a platform besides national security and _capitalize on the fear and widespread panic of a post-alien invasion America,_ sheer ineptitude at economic policy, some catastrophic Cabinet appointments in the wake of the SHIELDRA power vacuum…

And then, Ellis made it all worse.

He was desperate, losing support, _fast._ He appealed to the fringes, swinging from moderate Republican to far-right-wing conservative, for constituents who had become severely disenchanted with extreme politics.

Not a great plan.

Division within in the country, angry Internet rants and Youtube comments, a Russian Roulette of political hashtags that cast the blame for all the shit the world found itself in on the opposing side. 

But nothing calls for national unity in desperate times like an appeal to propaganda and purely irrational patriotism!

Oh, thought Ellis’s Chief of Staff one stupid-ass Saturday morning. Who do we know who is the literal physical impersonation of an appeal to propaganda and purely irrational patriotism? Who’s been conveniently defrosted and all PR’ed up by a superspy agency and a supertech corporate empire? Who doesn’t need a red, white, and blue paint job like War Machine because he was born swaddled in an American flag, smelling like apple pie?

You guessed it. Steve motherfucking Rogers.

Which backfired pretty spectacularly in the wake of the Ultron disaster (blame whoever you want for Sokovia, the PR was bad for all of them), and as people started realizing “hey… maybe superpowered paramilitary forces running around the world with _no legal framework binding them_ and the only comfort, the _symbol of accountability_ gone… is a bad idea.”

And the world agreed.

Sure, it _was_ America; the social consciousness on foreign interventionism was a little iffy, but… cities were being leveled.

But still, Ellis threw his hand in with Cap, pushing his PR behind making himself a symbolic backer of Captain America. Jim knew that to some extent, Ellis was betting on Tony handling the Avengers’ press, making all the bad things go away.

Ellis was not counting on Tony locking himself up in his mansion working until his hands bled and drinking and crying and being fucking _destroyed_ by the guilt of Ultron, throwing himself into philanthropy, into the new divisions of Stark Industries, into the Sokovia Accords, and the _last_ thing on his mind was _Cap’s PR._

And then, well…

This.

And then Ellis saw Pepper Potts and Catherine Leung in those leaked photos of Avengers Compound…

And he realized that SI would give no quarter.

And he realized he was completely and utterly fucked.

And now, he was here to beg for mercy.

And now, Jim Rhodes would not grant him mercy.

“What, President Ellis,” he let his eyes narrow with that thinly veiled hatred that had lingered close to the surface every day since the Sokovia Accords — _117 countries_ — were shot down by an arrogant guy in 40’s showboy tights — “do you propose we do? Hm? In an ideal world, what direction would Stark Industries take?”

Ellis just shifted uncomfortably like a child called into the principal’s office.

Jim leaned in, a small cruel smile on his face. He did not intend to make this painless. “Let me make this very clear, Mr. President. We are not friends. Not anymore. Not after you decided to throw Tony under the bus for Ultron when you _knew_ it was more complicated than that. You know there’s more to the story than what the Avengers were saying, especially after that private code-analysis investigation came back absolving Tony of the blame. Sure, he was partially culpable, but so were a lot of people. And you knew that.”

“I — the Avengers — if you —”

“Mr. President,” Jim cut him off with an air of authority no military man would ever hope of carrying around the Commander-in-Chief, “you mistake me for Tony Stark. Now, I’m sure Tony would forgive you. He’s a forgiving guy. He might appreciate that you had good intentions, try to salvage what’s left of your political career, now that your entire campaign platform just destroyed a couple European cities. But Ellis — I’m not Tony Stark.”

The _oh shit_ moment on Ellis’s face was so perfect Jim forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“You see, Ellis —” and Jim was really hitting it home that he could call the _Commander-in-Chief_ by his _last name_ to his _face,_ “— Tony Stark is in New York, recovering after fighting for his life for days on end. I don’t know when he’ll be back. You’re in luck, though — a corporate email sent out last night seems to indicate that he’ll be on his feet soon — which is good for you. Really. He’s the only one of us who might save your ass, because I sure as hell won’t.

“Tony is too kind, too generous. He’ll spare you, I’m sure of it. He _could_ destroy you in a heartbeat” — Ellis flinched — “but he won’t. He _should,_ maybe, but he won’t. No, you know who you really have to be scared of? The people who love him. That’s Pepper Potts. Harold Hogan. Catherine Leung. All of Stark Industries and the Foundation. The United Nations.” Jim grinned. “And me.

“Tony might not actively want your blood, and he might be far too kind to get revenge on his own behalf, but if _we_ ask him? He loves us, Ellis. All of us. If we tell him we want you dead, he’ll bring us your body wrapped in a bow. And I’ll remind you, our team is: one of the most powerful CEOs in the world, an ex-superspy PR master, a head of security with a vengeance and a history of being underestimated, and me, the de facto commander of the Iron Legion. Most of all, we have Tony Stark’s full support, which is not something to be brushed aside.”

From the look of Ellis’s face, he knew that.

_(And who would have thought that one of the most powerful and dangerous things to have in the world would be one man’s love?)_

Jim’s voice began to rise with pent-up anger.

“We love him, Ellis. And your actions contributed, in however small a way, to him landing on our operating table with his chest caved in.” Ellis flinched. _Good._ “So I, _truly,_ have no inclination to let you live. But Tony might, so here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to launch as many PR campaigns as it takes to get Tony back in public favor. You’re going to get the government to _fucking listen_ to him about the alien threat at our doorstep — because he’s right about that, _he really is._ You’re going to stop your ridiculous export tariffs on SI, because they’re seriously cutting into our budget. Also, that FDA holdup with the Intelli-Crops? That’ll be cleared by the end of the week. Clerical error, I’m sure.

“If you want a political career at the end of the day, you will cater to Tony Stark’s every whim until he has recovered, and then, when all that is said and done,  _then_ he’ll decide whether you live or die.”

FRIDAY was most _definitely_ recording this.

Jim's face contorted into a sneer. “You’d better hope that Tones has the medical miracle of the _century,_ because every day until them, you will be at his and my service. Understood?” he gritted out harshly. “And Ellis?”

When Ellis looked up, his eyes were suspiciously red.

“Remember this: as long as Tony’s on death’s door, Mr. President, you are too.” At long last, Jim relaxed, leaning back in his chair, having finished his tirade and letting the cards fall as they would.

There was a long beat of silence.

Finally, Ellis cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Understood, Colonel,” he mumbled roughly.

“Good.”

Jim made to wheel away, but Ellis raised his hand. “Colonel? If I could… if I could ask something?”

“Of course, Mr. President.”

“You think I have a shot at 2016?”

Jim snorted. “You know, if the Dems weren’t so idiotic in running Payton, you wouldn’t have a chance. But now… I don’t know.”

Rick Payton was considered by political analysts to be a spectacularly bad choice for about the same reasons that he was considered by most people to be a spectacularly bad person. His political career was founded mainly on the principle of throwing spitballs at public figures Alex-Jones-style with a little more profanity and irrational screaming than truly befitted a presidential candidate. The DNC had wanted him as a candidate in their primaries, not the general, for the purpose of throwing spitballs and throwing spitballs alone, because really, someone had to take shots at Ellis, and even if Payton's approvals went down with every half-witted, abrasive comment, so did Ellis's.

Unfortunately, around the time of the primaries, some crap had turned up about Hillary Clinton's emails, or whatever the latest scandal was, and the timing got all screwed up. And somehow, America ended up with actual toddler Rick Payton as a serious presidential candidate.

Anyway, two very, _very_ unpopular candidates running, in a crucial election year, and now this Civil War…

Maybe Ellis stood a chance. He wasn’t a _total_ failure in terms of policy.

_(Pretty bad, though.)_

“But still. Approvals haven’t been lower for the two candidates in… well, ever,” Ellis shrugged resignedly. “Even if I do get another chance…”

Jim filled in the blanks. He’d always be remembered by history as a failure. It was retire in disgrace now, or retire in disgrace in four years. “You know, you wouldn’t be so bad as Secretary of Defense. President, though… that’s not for you.”

Ellis suddenly perked up. “Do you mean…”

“What?” Jim was confused, and then it sunk in. “No. Ellis, I’m not going to waste my political capital making _you_ Secretary of Defense.”

“Not you, of course!” said Ellis, a small smile on his face for the first time. “Whoever Stark’s running, appointing me… Who is he running, by the way?”

Jim smiled. “He’s not running anybody.”

 _“Bullshit._ The man controls the whole damn system, he’s got a lot to win, he's got a lot to lose, and he could put anyone he wants in the White House. And with this clusterfuck of an election? You’re telling me he doesn’t have a third-party candidate lined up?”

“He doesn’t.”

“No way. No fucking way.”

“Like I said,” Jim inclined his head. “Too kind.”

“Why the _hell_ wouldn’t he run someone?”

Jim understood Ellis’s frustration, he really did — this was a man who spent his life fighting, climbing the political ladder — and then someone comes along who could just _choose_ the next President, and he wouldn't? That had to sting.

“If he’s not running anyone…” Ellis continued thoughtfully, “I might really stand a chance.”

“Mr. President?”

At that tone, Ellis’s head snapped up again with dawning apprehension.

“Just because Tony’s not running anyone, doesn’t mean that _we_ aren’t.”

“What do you mean, we —”

And then… Ellis _got it._ Jim saw the moment it clicked in his mind. He understood, finally.

The Stark family was done watching Tony get burned and chewed up by the world and spit out. They were done watching him be buried by enemies that lurked around every corner. They’d do anything to protect him, to keep him from harm.

“You’re… you’re running Tony Stark for president.”

Jim smiled.

~~~

“Does… does he even know?” Ellis stuttered out.

Jim snorted. “Of course not. He’d never let us. He does actually believe in the checks and balances shtick — remember the Accords? And I’m sure he’ll resign as soon as he gets into office, but… if a few weeks in the Oval are what it takes to get this country back on track, a few weeks in the Oval it will be.”

“And then…” the realization dawned on him.

“And then he can appoint whoever he wants to be his successor. Not you, not Payton. Whoever he wants. He has the chance to set the changes he wants in motion, and then he steps down, goes back to SI and the Avengers, and Washington goes on its merry way.”

“Catherine Leung. Pepper Potts. That ex-SHIELD network. This is what you’ve got them doing.”

“You’re supremely unpopular, Mr. President, and so is the other guy. Promoting a few hashtags here and there is all it’ll take to get the write-ins up to a point where no one gets 270 electoral votes, and Congress has to vote on the presidency. They cave to public pressure, and _bam,_ President Stark.”

“That’s… that’s never been done before.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Jim agreed. “But now is a good time for firsts.”

“It’s not entirely ethical.”

 _“I_ think it is. We won’t do anything illegal — no fake accounts or doctoring stories or spreading false truths — but we also won’t lie when we’re asked who we think should run the country. We won’t keep the public in the dark.”

And Ellis, resigned, nodded slowly. “President Tony motherfucking Stark.”

In that moment, Jim figured, _hey, he was rigging an election for his best friend already, maybe he should go nice,_ and said, “You know, Ellis, stay on our good side, and you might find yourself a place in the Stark administration. Secretary of Defense… not too shoddy.”

Ellis’s eyes were wide. This was it — stay with Team Stark or jump ship.

A beat of silence, and then he made the smart choice. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Colonel.”

“Glad to hear it. You have a good afternoon.”

“You too, Colonel.”

As Jim wheeled through the doorframe, leaving Ellis alone at the table, he turned around suddenly. “Oh, and Ellis?” — Ellis snapped his head around — “I’m sure that if your staff… ah, tried to get at the technicians for the footage of this conversation, they might find a… small error in the records.” He grinned mercilessly. “Have a nice day. And thank you for doing business with Stark Industries.”

~~~

The flight back to the Compound was too quiet. The clouds passed by outside in a blur. Jim’s chest was tight, and he’d never fly again.

Jim dropped his head in his hands.

No — no time for moping, he couldn’t — he couldn’t —

He couldn’t fucking believe this.

He’d just threatened a president, started rigging an election, and pretty much betrayed his friend’s life motto of _accountability, balance of powers, this is how we do business and we do not cross that line —_

But Tony was _dying,_ or he _had been,_ and now he was suffering… and Jim would never walk again… and who knew whether things would ever be the same?

“FRIDAY,” he said hollowly into his phone. “Status on Tony.”

“Alive,” she replied softly. “Not in immediate danger. That is all I can say.”

That was all she’d been able to say for seven days.

“He feels guilty for your injury.” _Of course he did._ “I tried telling him that was not a logical thought pattern, but he insists.”

“He’s a moron,” Jim whispered fondly.

“He can be,” FRIDAY said. “I’ll try to get him to talk to you.”

“Yes, FRIDAY,” Jim said gratefully. “Please.”

There was a pause for about a minute. Then —

“Check your phone, Colonel Rhodey-Machine.”

Jim chuckled at the name and whipped out his phone.

 

**Jim Rhodes >>**

**11 new messages**

_TS: I’m almost there_

_TS: I promise, I’m going to fix this_

_TS: I promise_

_TS: I’m so sorry_

_TS: I’m so sorry I put you in harm’s way_

_TS: I’m so sorry_

_TS: The spine was a shitty part of evolutionary biology_

_TS: Nature’s a dick_

_TS: But I’m gonna fix it_

_TS: You’re going to walk again, I promise_

_TS: Hold on for me_

 

“No way. No fucking way. FRIDAY — don’t tell me he’s working on —”

“I can’t confirm or deny anything.”

Jim laughed, slowly, softly at first, then louder and louder, a grin so wide it split his face. “Oh, that _bastard!_ He’s gonna do it, isn’t he? He really is!”

“Again, Colonel Rhodey-Machine, I can’t confirm anything…” FRIDAY trailed off. “But I can tell you, you’d make a very lucky first patient trial.”

Jim was lighter than air. “No — no way — he can’t — oh, but he _can,_ Tones — Jesus fuck. He’s going to do it.”

 

**Outgoing messages (7) >>**

_JR: Don’t be sorry, asshole_

_JR: This. Was. Not. Your. Fault._

_JR: Thank you_

_JR: Thank you so much_

_JR: Also, maybe try this thing called rest, like, once in your life_

_JR: Moron_

_JR: Thank you_

 

And then — then he saw one more email message appear at the top of his phone screen. _From General Braxton_ — oh, thank God, the good one.

 

**_Inbox (1): General Braxton, USAF (encrypted)_ **

_Colonel Rhodes —_

_I know that this must be a trying time for you, and you should know that I greatly appreciate your dedication to service, and to your country. Thank you for fighting by our side, despite the circumstances._

_You should also know that I am fielding many requests to find a replacement for you as War Machine. I’m doing my best to divert them, but because of my non-answers, many are turning to Secretary Ross for his appointment. I hope you know that I would never even consider replacing you so soon unless it were an absolute necessity, but I do shudder to think of who Ross would put in that suit, and I hope you do not take it personally if I appoint someone else simply to avoid the eventuality of a Ross-controlled Iron Legion. That is, of course, if Dr. Stark allows for another War Machine, which I believe we both know is nigh-impossible._

_Still, do be prepared for the honorable discharge they’re about to throw your way._

_As the de facto field leader of the Avengers Initiative at this time, I thought it best to bring to your attention a potential asset for your team, given that you are somewhat understaffed at the moment (and as I understand it, reconciliation is not likely). Her name is Air Force Colonel Carol Danvers, codenamed Warbird and Captain Marvel, and she has ambiguous alien powers. There’s a comprehensive briefing attached, because I honestly can’t make heads or tails of what she can do. She’s very powerful, is all I know, and she’s an excellent leader and fighter. She’ll lay low until you want her on the field, just say the word._

_One last thing — I have word on something Secretary Ross might be up to. This is all off the books; I’m not technically allowed to have this information, and I’m counting on your cybersecurity and your discretion to keep me safe here. It looks like he wants to go after a teenager in New York named Peter Parker — an Enhanced. I already sent this to Stark, and he responded with “Was aware, but thank you for notifying me. Situation is being handled.” Anyway, I thought you should know too. I scanned some of Ross’s documents; please find them attached._

_Once again, thank you for your service. It is my honor to be by your side through this all, and I’m wishing you and Dr. Stark a speedy recovery. If there is anything I can do to make this easier on you, please let me know._

_The best of luck to you, Colonel._

**_— General Arnold Braxton, U.S. Air Force_ **

 

* * *

 

_May 11, 2016. 11 days after Siberia._

 

Everyone at school had their own take on it…

...just like every angry blogger in the freaking world.

Frankly, Peter didn’t want to debate the Sokovia Accords for his social studies end-of-semester project. Especially not when the sides were going to be _assigned._

But to be honest, he didn’t want to talk about Leipzig and the Avengers at all, couldn’t stand to think about them for more than a minute at a time. He had long grown sick of the _“multiple contusions detected? Yeah, I detected those too”_ shitposts and the _“I retire for five minutes and it all goes to shit”_ memes and the _“who’s there? Oh, it’s your conscience, we haven’t spoken in a while”_ graphics. The _Sokovia Accords Explained_ and _Captain America: Wartime PR or WWII Propaganda?_ videos were more informational, but they did nothing to soothe Peter’s anxiety.

There was a lot of support for Spider-Man, though, which was nice. It looked like he was one of the few who escaped from this battle without being crucified by the media.

Vision, Colonel Rhodes, and Spider-Man were the only ones who emerged entirely unscathed. Mr. Stark had his usual pack of bitter angry haters that everyone had learned to ignore, but also some immense support from the other side; King T’Challa was involved in Bucharest and was more there for revenge for his father’s death, which the Romanian Prime Minister (it started with a C…) was apparently pretty mad about; and the Black Widow betrayed them at the end of the battle.

Team Cap, of course, were now murderers.

Who would have thought _this_ would be where the Avengers ended up? The _heroes_ of the Earth? Their _saviors?_

Peter had thought this would be the experience of a lifetime — to fight beside _Tony Stark_ and _James Rhodes,_ plus _the Vision_ himself and the famous Black Widow, against comic book heroes like Captain America, Falcon, and Hawkeye.

Then Colonel Rhodes fell out of the sky.

Peter had been lying there in the wreckage of the airport when he saw it happen. He heard Rhodes’s panic over his earpiece, he watched the red streak dive across the sky toward the grey figure — lifeless, plummeting, doomed, _crash._

Paralyzed.

It had taken a while for that to sink in.

Paralyzed.

Colonel Rhodes would never walk again.

On the news, they were talking about what his retirement from the Air Force would mean for the US Armed Forces, and what the loss of War Machine would mean for the world.

He would never walk again. He would never fly again.

 _War Machine,_ who’d stopped three whole wars in five years. _War Machine,_ who had battled Ultron in Sokovia. _War Machine,_ who had fought Ivan Vanko after that Stark Expo Peter had been to all those years ago.

But at least, Peter thought ruefully, he knew what had happened to James Rhodes. He knew, and he could process it.

What had happened to Mr. Stark?

Peter had seen the pictures online. They were… graphic. And not good.

There was so much blood.

And no one had seen or heard from him since.

Granted, a few days ago Stark Industries released a statement confirming he was alive and that he was expected to make a full and speedy recovery. They said that his surgery went “much better than expected” and that “Dr. Stark will return to work at Stark Industries, the Maria Stark Foundation, and all their subsidiaries, as well as in his capacity as an Avenger and Iron Man, within a matter of weeks.”

And in biology last week, there was another update while they were listening to their weekly dose of SISI.

(SISI was _Stark Industries Scitech Insider,_ a new wildly popular and distinctly humorous science podcast their teacher was fanatic about, in which three Stark Industries employees (Leo from Malibu, Raina from New York, and Arul from Bangalore) discussed the latest and the most intriguing fields of science with some _awesome_ guest stars — Tony Stark himself was on it four times; Bruce Banner, James Rhodes, and Pepper Potts once each. In exchange for the company’s time and name, they promoted the Stark brand on air and not-so-subtly disparaged their competitors _(HammerTech)._ The science teacher made them listen to at least the easier snippets from every week’s podcast every Monday, and Peter was proud to say that he was able to keep up with most of what they were talking about.)

_“We should remind our audience that our personal views on matters of politics and current events do not reflect the official Stark Industries stance, which is always released by our PR department in a timely manner. That said, we would like to give a shoutout to everyone who’s worked these past two years to get the Sokovia Accords working and ratified, despite the tragedy that occurred at their signing. Furthermore, we’d like to express our heartfelt condolences to the families of the victims of the attacks in Lagos, Vienna, Bucharest, and the RAFT. Our hearts go out to you all.”_

_“And two more — to Colonel Jim Rhodes, one of our own, who suffered permanent paralysis at the Battle at Leipzig and is still fighting for the Accords and the world just days afterward. Thank you for your service. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.”_

_“And to Tony Stark. If you’re listening — we’ve all seen the pictures, Tony, and we’re all praying for you. For our listeners who don’t know — we received a corporate memo from Tony a few days ago, and he says he’ll be back at work by June; an update from Miss Potts indicated that he’ll be in New York for the time being to coordinate with the UN Headquarters there, to recover at Avengers Compound, and to oversee Foundation efforts and the New York Clean Energy Project. So Tony, we have a message for you:_

_“Learn to take a break, for once in your life. But that said… SI isn’t the same without you. R &D misses you. All of us do. Come home. Our thoughts and prayers are with you. _

_“Now — science!”_

So that effectively killed Peter’s mood on Monday.

He was glad Ned was coming over later that evening to work on their Lego Death Star; hopefully that would cheer him up. Spider-Man was a good distraction, too. He couldn’t find it in him to use the suit Tony Stark gave him, not when Peter failing him was part of the reason he was hurt in Siberia.

Peter had to wonder — what _happened?_ I mean, it was fairly obvious _who_ happened — the shield and the metal arm being caught on camera in those leaked photos of the Helsinki hospital — but _what happened?_

Peter was in the dark. Just him and the rest of the world.

_Come on, Spider-Man. Concentrate._

But then he saw a pipeline near a building under construction emblazoned with the words _Stark Industries Energy Division_ and he completely overshot his next web, sending him tumbling through the air.

“Wo--oah!” He caught himself, just at the last second, soaring back upward over the streets and into the air.

Yup. Time to go home.

Peter swung above the streets of Queens, trying his best to admire the early night sky, making his way to his window and webbing it open. As he quietly climbed into his room, clinging to the ceiling, his enhanced hearing caught the soft _ping_ of his phone with a new messages. He webbed the phone and brought the screen to his face, still stuck to the ceiling. The messages were from — _Tony Stark?_

 

**Peter Parker >>**

**27 new messages**

_TS: We need to talk when I get out of here_

_TS: In a few days, I think_

_TS: I can practically hear you freaking out from here_

_TS: No, I’m not pissed at you_

_TS: I have to apologize to you actually_

_TS: I have a lot of apologies to make_

_TS: And a lot of explaining to do_

_TS: It won’t make things right but I have to try_

_TS: I wasn’t entirely honest about why I brought you to Leipzig, and you deserve the truth_

_TS: Thank you for helping us, though_

_TS: It was wrong of me to drag you out there and make you fight but thank you anyway_

_TS: Be careful out in Queens_

_TS: I gotta say, I’m not super comfortable with you out there on your own_

_TS: I think I should make you bulletproof_

_TS: How do you feel about a vibranium suit?_

_TS: We gotta have the talk first_

_TS: Not the Talk_

_TS: Oh god I made this weird_

_TS: Please forget that I made this weird_

_TS: A normal talk_

_TS: Well, not normal_

_TS: It involves threats to life and evil Secretaries so it’s not really normal_

_TS: You get my point_

_TS: I said it to van Dyne and I’ll say it to you: I’m sleep deprived, I’m delirious, I’m half-convinced I’ve hallucinated the past eight days. Anything that comes out of my mouth or my phone is bullshit_

_TS: I’ll be in contact when I’m not… well, like this_

_TS: Take care of yourself, kid_

 

Peter didn’t know where to start — where Mr. Stark was okay, Mr. Stark was texting him, or _Tony Stark_ just said _bullshit._

Peter tapped out a reply:

 

**Outgoing messages (3) >>**

_PP: Sure thing, Mr. Stark_

_PP: Thanks_

_PP: Glad you’re okay_

 

Behind him, a Lego Death Star shattered into pieces.

_Ned._

_Shit._

 

* * *

 

_May 12, 2016. 12 days after Siberia._

 

Harold Hogan was not happy.

Two of his best friends in the world were gravely injured, one paralyzed and the other just off his deathbed — and the woman he definitely didn’t have a thing for was running herself ragged dealing with the fallout of the Civil War. And he couldn’t quite recall when the job of _corporate security_ began involving superspies and families of terrorists, but here he was.

“Jim delivered Ellis,” Pepper informed him by way of greeting in the lobby of Stark Tower.

“Good to see you too,” he grumbled. They walked together to Conference Room 115, Happy handing her her morning herbal tea, Pepper giving him his daily white chocolate mocha with peppermint.

A corner of Pepper’s mouth twitched in that adorable way of hers. “Well, it’s going to make things a lot easier if Tony doesn’t have to deal with the US when he comes back. Plus, I think Jim negotiated for some trade deals and Intelli-Crop pushes?”

Happy snorted. “Sure. _Negotiated._ Have you seen the man lately?”

 _“Happy._ Don’t be so hard on him.”

“I’m not! I’m just saying… is it really the best idea to send the guy out this early? He’s had it pretty rough these past few weeks.”

Pepper sighed softly, sipping her tea. “Yeah, I know. He’s taking it pretty bad.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Happy asked defensively.

Pepper gave him a look. “You know that’s not what I meant. Anyone would, you know that, but…”

“Yeah.”

They walked in silence a minute longer until they found the conference room. Happy, smooth as ever, went to get the door at the same time as she did, bumping into her and jostling his mocha. A little of the white fuzz jumped out of the cup and landed right on top of Pepper’s lightly freckled nose.

“Ooh!” Pepper giggled. “Wait, wait —” she tried to reach the whipped cream fuzz with her tongue, crossing her eyes adorably and wiggling her nose. “No — no, I can’t! Ugh!”

A soft smile spread across Happy’s face. He might have fallen a little bit in love in that moment.

Pepper reached up and wiped the whipped cream away with a perfectly-manicured finger and a smile.

And then they were just standing there.

Staring into each other’s eyes.

Very awkwardly.

Pepper cleared his throat the same time as Happy. “Uh, we should —”

“Yeah — yeah, we — oh! Oh, after you —”

Happy bumped arms with her again shuffling into the room, _damn these doorways,_ “No — yeah, okay —”   

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Happy didn’t even _know_ if she and Tony were really broken up yet. It seemed like it, with the distance and the friendliness and all, but were they… were they just on a break? Were they officially broken up? Would they get back together? Were they still in love?

Happy was hit with a tidal wave of guilt when he remembered that Tony was still locked in his lab, suffering from every kind of trauma, from blunt force to betrayal and all the way back. And Happy… Happy couldn’t say he wasn’t _this close_ to giving in and kissing his girlfriend.

The engagement ring from 2008 burned accusingly in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“So… Jim,” Pepper’s light yet business-like voice brought him back to reality.

“Jim, yeah. He’s… not doing well. I — I think he’s getting a little…”

“Restless?”

Happy winced. “Ah… that’s not the word I would use. See, I was talking to some of my ex-SHIELD contacts in DC — you know, about securing the Langs from Ross — and they told me word was Jim went down and threatened Ellis within an inch of his life. They think we’re gunning for world domination on Tony’s behalf, or something. I don’t know what he said, Pepper, but Ellis is shit scared.”

Pepper shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She’d always had a good poker face, but it always showed its cracks around Jim, Tony, or Happy.

Happy narrowed his eyes. “Pepper?”

“What?” The innocent look was a dead giveaway.

_“Pepper.”_

Pepper let out a sigh. “Fine! Fine! We kind of… are. We just — we just want —”

“Pepper…” Happy said cautiously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“We’re…” Pepper closed her eyes and swallowed. “We’re running Tony in the 2016 election,” she said quietly.

_Oh, fuck._

“Wh— Pepper —”

“No — wait, no, you know what? _No!_ I’m tired of this! We can’t keep him safe, Happy! We can’t. This — this proves that. We can’t keep him safe anymore, so we have to —”

“What, we have to _eliminate the opposition?_ Put _Tony_ in control of the whole system? Make him _President Stark?_ Pepper, that makes you sound like —”

“What? A dictator? An overlord? If you can accuse me of it, I’m sure I’ve thought of it already,” she challenged him.

“I was _going_ to say, that makes you sound like Rogers.”

Pepper stopped, dead silent, then looked down at the table.

Happy took a deep breath painfully. “I watched the footage of their little _Accords debate._ ‘The safest hands are still our own’? That ring a bell? Pepper, if you do this, you’re no better than him!”

“Well, Tony is! Tony’s better! He can do it all better, and if it keeps him safe, then…”

“Pepper, would Tony ever do this?” Happy asked quietly.

Pepper’s eyes fluttered shut. They both knew the answer.

Happy sighed.  “Pepper, you do this, and we’re as bad as Rogers. And if not Rogers… the next comparison I would make would be Stane.”

At that, Pepper’s eyes flew up, her glare burning like a dragon’s, Extremis orange lacing the blue of her eyes and burning wisps of smoke at her fingertips. “Now, don’t you _dare compare —”_

“That’s what he wanted too! Full control, full power!”

“I am _nothing_ like that monster, asshole!”

“Tony said he told him to ‘put the balance of power back in the right hands — _their hands!’”_

“I’m trying to _protect_ Tony, I’m trying to _help_ Tony! _He_ said _that_ while ripping Tony’s _heart_ out of his chest! How could you even —”

“This isn’t Tony! Tony would never want this!”

“Tony’s _kindness_ nearly got him killed! Or have you forgotten what his chest looked like, mauled and caved in?”

“And so you want to become no better than the monster who did that to him? You want him to carry that guilt for you?” Happy yelled back.

 _“Hap—_ I don’t believe this! Our friend was _dying,_ on a table, he was _screaming,_ and now — now when we can finally keep him safe, when we can put someone in charge who has a _good_ heart, when we can finally _help him_ create that better world he sees —”

“And you want Tony to sacrifice who he _is_ to do that.”

Pepper took a shuddering breath and bit her lip, hard. “Jim agrees with me. So does Catherine.”

Happy snorted. “Yeah. I'm sure they do.” He snapped his badge up from the table, leaving his mocha abandoned beside Pepper’s tea. “But Tony wouldn’t.”

His hands shaking slightly, he walked to the conference room doors, where... several interns and employees were watching open-mouthed through transparent walls. _Fucking hell._ They might not have heard what they were saying — Tony’s noise-cancelling synthetic glass fiber being revolutionary tech, in classic Tony style — but they did just _see_ them yell, courtesy of Tony’s MIT second-year interior design and architecture seminar in which he developed a distinct preference for glass paneling.

“I’m going to go check up on the Bartons and the Paxton-Langs,” and Happy was proud of how his voice didn’t shake.

“Yeah… yeah,” Pepper said behind him, her voice small. “Goodbye, Happy.”

Happy didn’t answer her; he just half-slammed the door behind them _(stronger than ballistic glass, it wouldn’t break)._ “What are you looking at?” he grumbled to the interns, and they scattered, likely remembering his firing spree of late 2012.

News travelled fast in a tech company that was never unplugged, or so it seemed when the bellman in the garage valeted his car for him nearly twice as fast as usual. As Happy loaded himself into the front seat with a gruff sigh, he pulled out his phone to be met with twelve missed messages from someone he really didn’t expect to hear from so soon.

_Fight about the devil._

 

**Happy Hogan >>**

**12 new messages**

_TS: Forehead of Security_

_TS: Oh Happy, my Happy, the least happy person I know_

_TS: Just kidding_

_TS: That prize goes to Schrödinger’s SHIELD Pirate_

_TS: Or the Thunderbastard_

_TS: I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through_

_TS: You never signed up for this and I’m sorry_

_TS: Look after Pepper for me?_

_TS: Thank you_

_TS: For everything_

_TS: I never told you_

_TS: Thank you_

 

Stupid genius.

Apologetic, self-flagellating, stupid genius.

Happy wondered whether he should tell Tony about what just went down. No, no — he was still recovering, he didn’t need this crap on top of it. Plus, he should give Pepper and Jim some time to cool off, maybe reconsider their plan.

It wasn’t that Happy didn’t understand — he understood, all right. There wasn’t any doubt in his mind that Tony could do it all better, the whole damn country, and that he deserved that power and that safety. He deserved to be unopposed.

What he didn’t deserve was the guilt he would carry as a result of that. If his company intentionally influenced the outcome of an election, Tony would see it as his own personal failure, as him becoming the power-hungry monster that everyone said he was. He would feel like he was losing himself, losing the hero he’d fought so desperately to become. And the last thing Tony deserved was shittier mental health.

Happy liked to think that he was loyal, a good friend. So he hoped that he knew Tony well enough to say that this wasn’t what was in his best interests. Maybe his ex-girlfriend _(ex?)_ and his best friend of thirty years knew better, sure, but maybe… maybe they were compromised. Jim was not in a good place, given his recent paralysis, and Pepper was almost as overworked as Tony was sometimes.

No… this stupid, apologetic, self-flagellating, stupid genius? He fought for the Accords, believing in everything they stood for. So did Jim. Separation of powers, checks and balances, accountability. And Happy knew that in the long run, nothing could make them lose sight of that.

The times were rough, but they’d get through them. Together. As a family.

 

**Outgoing messages (4) >>**

_HH: Take care of yourself, Tony_

_HH: We miss you_

_HH: Thank you_

_HH: For being you_

 

* * *

 

_May 13, 2016. 13 days after Siberia._

 

“The Federal Republic of Nigeria charges Private Steven Grant Rogers, Staff Sergeant Samuel Thomas Wilson, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, and Wanda Maximoff with illegal entry and Wanda Maximoff with seventeen counts of criminally negligent manslaughter. It requests extradition for all four accused.”

“The government of Romania charges Private Steven Grant Rogers with the aiding and abetting of a fugitive, seventeen counts of voluntary manslaughter, eight counts of homicide, and destruction of public property in the amount of $12,000 US dollars and private property in the amount of 7,500 US dollars. It charges Staff Sergeant Samuel Thomas Wilson with destruction of public property in the amount of 250 thousand US dollars, two counts of voluntary manslaughter and one count of homicide. It charges Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes with thirty-three counts of voluntary manslaughter, destruction of public property in the amount of 1.3 million US dollars, and destruction of private property in the amount of 45 thousand US dollars, pending a psychiatric evaluation into the potentiality of diminished responsibility. It requests extradition for both accused. King T’Challa of Wakanda has been cleared of all charges on the basis of diplomatic immunity.”

There were boos and jeers from the crowd below.

“The Federal Republic of Germany charges Private Steven Grant Rogers, Sergeant Samuel Thomas Wilson, and Natalia Alianovna Romanova as fugitives from justice. It charges Private Steven Grant Rogers, Sergeant Samuel Thomas Wilson, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Wanda Maximoff, Clinton Francis Barton, and Scott Edward Harris Lang with illegal entry, reckless endangerment, and destruction of private and public property in the amounts that have been released in the official press statement. It requests extradition for all six accused.”

“The Russian Federation charges Private Steven Grant Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes with illegal entry into Siberia. It has dropped the charges against Dr. Anthony Edward Stark, as his entry into Russia has been deemed legally admissible under the purview of the Sokovia Accords and the terms of an official mission agreement with the Accords Council. It requests extradition for both accused.”

“The United States of America charges Private Steven Grant Rogers, Sergeant Samuel Thomas Wilson, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Wanda Maximoff, Clinton Francis Barton, and Scott Edward Harris Lang as fugitives from justice. It charges Private Steven Grant Rogers with four counts of homicide and destruction of public property in the amount of 80 thousand US dollars; it charges all other aforementioned parties as accomplices to the same. It charges Wanda Maximoff with fifty-three counts of psychological torture and five counts of voluntary manslaughter; it charges all other aforementioned parties as accomplices to the same. It charges Scott Edward Harris Lang with violation of his parole agreement. Its Armed Forces hereby dishonorably discharge Steven Grant Rogers and Samuel Thomas Wilson. It is considering charges of treason for some of the accused. It — it — it requests extradition for — for all six accused —”

At _‘treason’,_ the crowd was up in arms, shouting and screaming and cheering and jeering all at once. It took several minutes to quiet them down, before the UN Secretary-General could address all the delegates and private citizens assembled in front of him at the UN HQ in Geneva.

“These — these five governments request the presence of the six aforementioned individuals now commonly known as the Rogue Avengers. Without testimony from them, they may be convicted in absentia. And now, we will hear the private suits.”

“A group of two hundred and thirty-two individuals are pressing charges against all six aforementioned accused for the destruction of private property, reckless endangerment, manslaughter, and homicide.”

“Pym Technologies, Dr. Henry Jonathan Pym, and Hope van Dyne are pressing charges against Scott Edward Harris Lang for the theft and misuse of their proprietary Ant-Man technology.”

When the microphone passed to her, Pepper cleared her throat. “Stark Industries is pressing charges against all aforementioned accused for the theft of its private property in the combined amount of 800 thousand US dollars…  

… and against Steven Grant Rogers, for the attempted murder of Dr. Anthony Edward Stark.”

The crowd exploded into chaos.

~~~

Pepper was _tired, tired, tired._ How the hell did Tony do _three-day benders?_ On two hours of sleep a night for two weeks, she was already dead beat.

_(‘Coffee and nightmares,’ she remembered him telling her one night, staring blankly at a wall, shivering in fear.)_

Still, at least now she had an end in sight. There was light at the end of the tunnel.

Because early that morning, she received three very cryptic messages from Tony:

 

**Virginia Potts >>**

**3 new messages**

_TS: Thank you_

_TS: For everything_

_TS: I’ll be home soon_

 

That last line — those four little words — set her whole world back on straight.

_(‘You’re all I have too, you know.’)_

Tony was coming home. He was. He was coming back.

He was ready to face the world.

And this time… Pepper had a feeling.

She had a feeling he wasn’t going to stay down.

And neither would she.

 

**Outgoing messages (1) >>**

_VP: We can’t wait_

 

~~~

“Leung!” she called as she boarded Quinjet Three.

“Potts! Glad to hear Ellis delivered.”

“Just as Jim said,” Pepper muttered. She felt a small stab of guilt pierce her stomach remembering the argument she’d had with Happy yesterday, but… she brushed it aside. She could worry about it later. Not now. No time now.

“I’m going wider on the NYC Clean Energy Project public awareness campaign, and the September Foundation PR manager approved the new plan. He’s signing off on the new budget allocations as we speak. Hope van Dyne and Hank Pym are en route to the Compound to discuss _their_ budget allocations… Pepper?”

Pepper was lost in thought.

“Pepper!”

Pepper snapped back into the present. “I need you to get Jim and Happy to come by there too. I think Tony’s coming back soon.

Catherine nodded, tapping her keyboard. “Got that, FRI?”

“Of course.”

The quinjet soared on into the night.

~~~

The main common room on the third floor was somewhat tense, as the last time something Hank Pym or Hope van Dyne touched was on Avengers Compound property, something got stolen.

“I — you see, my main concern, Miss Potts,” started Hank Pym in a vain attempt at sounding diplomatic, “is the possibility of my tech being stolen.”

Catherine glared daggers.

“Is that so?” Pepper smiled, showing too many teeth. “Dr. Pym, is it fair to say, since _you_ have stolen technology from Dr. Stark in the past — just last year, in fact — and he has never shown any such inclination towards you, that truly, we should perhaps be more wary of you?”

Hope van Dyne nudged Hank Pym with a little too much elbow. Pym tried to conceal his wince. “Our apologies, Miss Potts.”

Pepper’s smile never faltered. She knew she was being a little bit cruel — Howard Stark was never known as a particularly accommodating man, so perhaps Hank Pym’s concern was validated, and Hope van Dyne had been nothing but understanding and cordial… but still. Better enemies to friends than friends to enemies.

“Of course. Now —”

At that, a whir of a sliding glass door, and two men entered the room, one walking, one wheeling.

“Ah — Happy, Jim — I’m in a meeting.”

“We noticed,” Happy said blandly. When she met his eyes, he held them straight on with that fierce loyalty and determination of his. Pepper wasn’t sure why, but under his scorn and disapproval, something inside her twisted. Eventually, she was the one to look away first.

“We’re here, should you… require our help,” and Jim’s particular death glare was focused on Hank Pym, not Pepper.

Now that Happy had pointed it out, she couldn’t unsee it: that Jim was coping with the latest episode of _Traumatic Life Experiences: with Tony Stark and Friends_ by venting his rage — perhaps a little too harshly — onto his adversaries; the people who threatened him and Tony. A well of concern grew in her stomach when she realized that _that look_ — that fire and anger and all-consuming rage — did not belong on James Rhodes’s face. He was stoic, strong determination and uncompromising morality. He was dedicated to what he believed in, and he fought for it, but he didn’t go on blind rampages in the name of vengeance. It was what Tony, Pepper, and Happy all admired about him.

This was all taking a greater toll on him than Pepper thought.

Jim continued to glare as he wheeled over to Pepper’s side. “Anything you say to Pepper, you should say to us, too.”

_Anything you say about Tony, I want to hear._

“Listen — Colonel Rhodes, I’m sorry, I don’t remember scheduling a meeting with you — oof!” Pym was being repeatedly elbowed in the stomach by one furious Hope van Dyne.

“That’s funny. I think you scheduled a meeting with Stark Industries, and guess what? I’m part of Stark _fucking_ Industries!”

“Jim —”

“Boss-Lady —”

“No, these guys suited up some _rando_ they didn’t know straight out of prison and they’re wondering why an airport got demolished? Give me a break!”

“Jim, that’s not fair —”

“Not fair? I’ll _tell_ you what’s not fair, Pepper —”

“Boss-Lady, I should alert you —”

“Colonel Rhodes, I do apologize for the events at Leipzig —”

“— Oh, _do you?”_

“— but we are making a _genuine_ effort to make things right, and we hope we can count on your assistance and support —”

“She is, Jim, she really is, it _wasn’t_ their fault —”

“Bullshit! Like Tony would ever let his tech —”

_“HEY!”_

There was a shout from… from whom?

_Oh._

Standing in the doorway of the common room was… _Tony._

He was the very image of exhaustion; his hair disheveled, his white shirt stained with oil and grease, and the bags under his eyes had etched dark, painful lines into his skin. In his hands were two long metal objects, that looked like —

“Legs.” Tony walked over to Jim, rubbing his eyes blearily with his elbow, and handed them to him. “For you. I’ll get them set up in the morning. You need these nanite things… they’re in the vials on the — the left…”

Nobody knew what to say. Pym and van Dyne were wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Jim was looking frantically between the legs and Tony and the legs again, Happy and Catherine were staring like Tony was out of his goddamn mind, and Pepper…

Pepper had no idea what this… what _this_ meant.

Tony just rubbed his eyes again with the back of his hand. “I’m going to bed now.” He turned and trudged back out the door, leaving the six of them staring. “Long day tomorrow. Lots to do. Lots to do. We have lots to do.”

“Wait — Tony!” Pepper called, and Tony halted. “What — what _are_ we doing, Tony? What — what happens now?”

Tony turned back, a wry smile on his face shining through the cracks of his exhausted features.

“We cut a wire.”

 

 

 

_**The End (of the prologue).** _

__

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_+1._

**Stephen Strange >>**

**15 new messages, unknown number.**

_Unknown Number: Magician_

_Unknown Number: Do you mind telling me what you’re up to in that fancy fancy house of yours_

_Unknown Number: Sanctum_

_Unknown Number: Whatever_

_Unknown Number: Look if you don’t want anyone to find you maybe you shouldn’t give off such /ridiculous/ energy signatures_

_Unknown Number: Or disappear to Nepal or Tibet or wherever for years_

_Unknown Number: Which is conveniently close to a place where there are whispers of a “Sorcerer Supreme”_

_Unknown Number: That wouldn’t be you, would it?_

_Unknown Number: Do you know him?_

_Unknown Number: Her? Them?_

_Unknown Number: Anyway. You, this “Sorcerer Supreme”, or both, should join the Avengers Initiative_

_Unknown Number: Or open a channel of communication at least_

_Unknown Number: So we don’t step on each other’s toes_

_Unknown Number: This is Tony Stark by the way_

_Unknown Number: You’ll be hearing from me_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that will definitely come up again:  
> \- MORALLY DUBIOUS RHODEY!! Is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while. Yes, I know, kind of OOC, but I’m trying to actually be /realistic/ about how a recent traumatic paralysis and the near loss of a close friend might affect someone. He’ll recover, I promise — but it does take some family bonding.  
> \- Tony’s childhood as an arms dealer. It’s a plot point, and it was kind of teased in Rhodey’s section. Yes, that will appear again later. I’m not sure how big of a plot point, though.  
> \- Dani Love: I think she was a brief mention here, since I just cut her section. Another OC of mine. Tony’s personal lawyer. Based vaguely off of, like, three other fictional characters. Very Good At Law.
> 
> UPDATES: 1) I cut the hurricane bit. I decided it was too unrealistic, even for comic book science; 2) I don't really want to make this fic about my politics so Trump is no longer part of the fic. Rick Payton, random ass guy I came up with off the top of my head, is replacing him. 
> 
> Okay, I know the timeline for Christmas-2012 and Ellis’s presidency don’t actually line up, since he wouldn’t actually be sworn in until January, but it’s more convenient for my plot if Ellis wasn’t an incumbent in 2012, so screw it. The MCU doesn’t care about continuity, so why should I?
> 
> Also, if you’re not from America, you might get confused by how stupid our politics are. I’ll try to make it obvious, but just as a general rule: stuff is stupid, people are stupid.
> 
> Internal Conflict™ within the IronFam… but it’s okay, it’s only 'cause they love each other so much, and they maybe make some morally dubious choices trying to protect each other.
> 
> Also!!! I had no idea how much I shipped Happy and Pepper until I wrote Happy’s section. Oh my god, they would be /adorable/. That scene just fell into place and I loved it. I mean, Pepperony always has a place in my heart, but… I think I’m glad I went with Ironstrange and Happy/Pepper on this one. Also, what is Happy and Pepper’s ship name? Comment if you know/have a suggestion!
> 
> One more thing! I was wondering: do you guys want to see Clint Barton redeemed in this AU? Only reason I ask is, I was at the library the other day and I saw a Hawkeye comic, and man is comics!Hawkeye a million times better than MCU!Hawkeye. So idk. MCU or comics Hawkeye? Comment to vote! 
> 
> Next Chapter:  
> \- some Actual Plot™ and not just prologue in weird 5+1 or 10-part formats  
> \- Tony and FRIDAY  
> \- Best Friend Bonding & Rhodey getting some comfort  
> \- A self-righteous letter  
> \- The man who came home with metal in his heart and fire in his soul. Twice.
> 
> -your friendly neighborhood tony-stan <3


	4. Techno-Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's perspective on the ten days chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys again! sorry for the VERY LATE update, but i have an explanation i swear! 
> 
> so this chapter was supposed to be like 5 scenes but it got WAY too long (like over 30k) and i decided i'd just post each as its own chapter? anyway, expect like two more chapters in the next week or so, since most of the rest of that chapter was already done
> 
> also chapter lengths are going to go WAY down bc it's hard for me to write so much but that also means i can update more than, like, once a month -- once a week??? hopefully??
> 
> I think Tony's age is mentioned in this chapter so I should note that in this AU he's born in 1971 in order to keep consistent with IM1/IM2/CW timelines. :)
> 
> Ooh! also note that a few things were changed in the previous chapter:  
> \- I cut Trump bc I don't want my personal political opinions to color this too much  
> \- I cut the hurricane bit because i figured it was pushing it, even for comic book science
> 
> I'm forgetting something, but whatever I'll revise this later.
> 
> Thank you so so much for your comments and your kudos and your bookmarks and your love and support and all that stuff, like it makes me SO HAPPY every time i get a notification for a comment, I do a little dance :)
> 
> Honestly I never expected so much positive feedback and it's kind of awesome so thanks!! love ya <3
> 
> In loving memory of Stan Lee

 

_Ten days in the Compound laboratory._

 

Tony didn’t sleep at all.

Extremis helped with that, apparently; a ten-day work bender would have put him in his grave a month ago — would have put most people in their graves, let alone a forty-four-year-old chronic insomniac constantly toeing the line of heart failure — but now, though he might _feel_ like literal death, his vitals showed that it would be at least two more days before his body totally gave out.

The newfound energy was one of many perks he’d discovered were part of his all-new Erase-Your-Own-Humanity discount package subscription that he _definitely didn’t fucking sign up for,_ including some other nifty tricks like liquid armor nanotech pores, gold-titanium bone marrow, scarily Cap-like superhuman strength, _another_ glorified glowing car battery painfully shoved in his sternum…

…an aching pain in his chest he’d never really forgotten, literal _voices_ in his head, and the haunting realization that he was not human anymore, _you are nothing but lines of code,_ you were so goddamn _broken_ you had to be fucking _remade from wires and silicon and scrap…_

So he’d maybe had a bit of a nervous breakdown his first day under.

In his defense, the last twenty-four hours in his memory had gone: having not slept in the two days previous, talk to suffering victims of Bucharest (who’d lost family because of his failures), find Captain America and his gang of misfit idiot terrorists and apprehend them in the middle of their Righteous Crusade For All Things Noble And Bucky-Related (With No Apparent Or Stated Purpose But To Maximize Collateral Damage), watch his friend get paralyzed, get backstabbed by Natashalie, get chewed out by Thunderbitch, get mocked for his friend’s newfound disability on the RAFT, swallow his pride to go save Rogers’s dumb ass in Siberia (two super soldiers against five super soldiers, or one against six if you consider that Barnes could be compromised… not a great plan)...

And then pretend that he wasn’t at all impacted by the sobbing, desperate families of the dead in Bucharest, not at all affected by the sight of Rhodey’s unmoving body collapsed on the ground, not in any way tormented by the way he found Vision — _his own creation_ — buried seventeen stories under, disbelieving and in pain — so he could maybe, _maybe_ convince Cap to come quietly (and also not sic five/six Winter Soldiers on the world)…

…then watch his parents get brutally murdered by Barnes, listen to that motherfucking traitorous _hypocritical self-righteous piece of shit_ lie to his fucking _face_ before admitting to using Tony’s money, Tony’s resources, using _Tony_ to look for the killer of his parents; then finally, _finally,_ lash out, at long last — because he was so exhausted and angry and oh god why _why why_ — and yet still, _still_ not fighting to kill, _still_ holding back, with that single thread of sanity he had left through all the pain…

— then be beaten to the ground, utterly broken, defeated, his heart _crushed,_ by the man he’d called a friend. Then lie in wait, in pain, for hours and hours, waiting for death… feeling death freeze the tips of his fingers and the lengths of his toes, feeling it stutter across his failing heart, feeling its heavy unrelenting weight on his chest as he lay in the armor that was to be his coffin; as he regretted every choice he’d made his whole goddamn life, feeling the tears freeze on his cheeks, feeling himself drown in his own blood, remembering _Afghanistan…_

And waking up, screaming, to intense, awful, searing pain — not only being burned alive, but also feeling that lingering palladium in his veins, his muscles, everywhere — being ionized and charged and rewritten in code that _burned_ in his mind—

—before going under once more…

Tony thought, in retrospect, that maybe he was entitled to a quick little meltdown.

FRIDAY tried to help, but she kept interfacing with his Extremis server _(read: whispering in his head)_ which reminded Tony so much of something he couldn’t put his finger on, with threads of memories of a HYDRA base in Sokovia, which didn’t make any sense, why would he keep remembering that one specific panic attack from a year ago?

In the end, what pulled him out was one voicemail FRIDAY alerted him to and insisted that he listen to. Tony didn’t really want to have to deal with FRIDAY trying to guilt trip him into lift Blackout Protocols, but _really, Boss, I must insist,_ and who was Tony to deny his baby girl anything?

_“Hey, Mechanic! What the hell?”_

Harley.

Oh, no — Harley.

_“You think you can just go and die on me? No way! You better — you better — get better soon — or else! You’d better —”_

Harley’s voice was shaky, he was choking on a sob, and Tony’s heart whined in pain. Harley — _Harley_ was in pain.

_“Call me back, okay?” came Harley’s voice, laced with hurt. “Don’t be a dick. I don’t — I don’t want you to be hurt, and — and —”_

A sob tore its way from Harley’s throat, and Tony buried his head in his hands.

 _“Be safe, Dad,”_ came a broken whisper, and the line clicked dead.

 

 

Tony was in the bunker, watching the snow fall, frozen and empty and cold. Listless. Dying. Broken.

He was rubbing his left arm absentmindedly, post-Bucharest, as Rogers’s excuses and protests fell on his deaf ears, pounding from his electromagnetic migraine.

He was in his Tower, his home, baring his vulnerable heart to his farce of a family, pointing to the sky and asking in a barely-steady voice the question that had haunted his nightmares for years: _“What are you planning on doing about that?”_

He was pulling Catherine and Flynn’s mangled bodies out of Pyongyang, holding back bile and tears, but only barely.

He was in Johannesburg, Seoul, Novi Grad in turn. His fault. _(And yet.)_

He was by the Potomac. The wreckage of the helicarriers was so tall that a chunk of it about seven stories tall still jutted out of the water’s surface, still aflame days after. Still burning, a slow and painful death. He was by the inlet where the water didn’t flow as freely, where the current passed by, leaving a pool of mostly stagnant water behind, where the river was red with blood, with the ink dripping from their ledgers.

He was standing in front of a crowd, explaining away the Avengers’ mistakes with a PR turn of phrase and a glimmering media smile.

He was in the Compound’s lab, with a weight in his chest and coconut on his tongue and yet another scar across his torso, listening as Harley — his _child_ — sobbed in grief, grieving _him,_ and all because Steve Rogers didn’t give enough of a _shit_ to call for a _fucking rescue._ All because Tony’s life meant so _little_ that he deserved to be left to die. All because Tony’s loved ones meant so _little_ that Rogers would have them _grieve_  for him sooner than he’d pick up a _goddamned phone and call for help._

“What,” he whispered, shaking in rage, “What right does he have?”

He felt FRIDAY shift at the back of his mind confusedly. “What… what do you —”

“What right does he have,” Tony whispered again, voice low, “to hurt — to hurt _my child?”_ Tony’s voice grew tremulously.

“You mean… Rogers?” FRIDAY asked timidly.

Tony jolted up suddenly out of his seat, fists at his side, fire in his eyes. _“What right does he have?”_ he yelled. “What right does he have? To hurt — Rhodey — Vision — now, now — _Harley?_ What — _what right_ does Steve Rogers have to make me — to cave in my heart, to _leave me_ to die, to make me — make me remember _Afghanistan?_ What —” Tony pointed at the holo-image displaying Harley’s recording playing — “what _right_ does he have to make _my son_ grieve — and he’s _my_ _son_ —  what right does he have — to put — to put _Harley_ in pain?”

“Boss, I’m worried —”

 _“He did that!”_ Tony exploded. “You heard Harley! He was _crying!_ And Rhodey — Rhodey won’t walk unless — and how many dead in Bucharest? _Rogers did that!”_

“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY said with finality. “He did.”

“I — I’m gonna — I’m gonna — ”

And in that moment, it all became clear.

He didn’t owe Rogers a single goddamned thing. Tony had covered his ass all these years, shielding him from the consequences of his actions, enabling his self-righteous entitlement. Tony had protected Rogers at the expense of the world, at the expense of his family, at the expense of himself. And now, people were suffering for it. Now, he was paying the price.

Tony took several deep breaths.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_In, in, out._

“FRIDAY?” he called, calm and determined. “I don’t want you to ever think that I would let Rogers do to you what he did to Vision — or to Rhodey, or to Harley — and let him get away with it.”

Tony felt FRIDAY shift at the back of his mind in a… pleasant manner, like she was… _smiling._ “I doubt you ever would, Boss.”

Tony hummed. “Where are they?”

“Wakanda,” she answered promptly.

“Hmph. Makes sense… but that means this will get a whole lot harder.”

“We have time,” FRIDAY replied, a confident air in her voice. “And besides, however advanced Wakanda may or may not be, they don’t have a technopath.”

_Technopath._

Huh.

“No, they don’t,” Tony mused. “No, they don’t.”

_Technopath._

The world had seen weirder.

“I know you never wanted to be Enhanced,” FRIDAY said tentatively, “but maybe — maybe —”

“I know, FRIDAY,” Tony said. “This might be… a blessing in disguise, and all that. I think… I think so.”

“You do?” FRIDAY whispered excitedly. “You want to be like me, Boss?”

Something warmed achingly in Tony’s chest. “Yeah, FRI.” He picked a screwdriver from the table a screwdriver and held it up to his eye level. “What we wanted to be isn’t always what we become, and sometimes… sometimes that’s for the best. For example…” He let his eyes flutter shut, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I never wanted to be a father.”  

 

* * *

 

The first thing he did was text Harley. He didn’t feel up to a call — he’d probably break down because _Harley had called him Dad_ — also, his overall mental stability at this point in time was something of a cryptid — plus, it was five in the morning in Tennessee anyway.

So he sent his last texts — _I love you, kid; Never doubt it_ — he exhaled a deep breath and sank bank in his chair, glancing upward.

And there. Right there.

Sitting there, in the middle of his floor, was that goddamned shield.

Pepper, Vis, and Rhodey must have brought it down, Tony registered numbly.

The red-white-and-blue paint job stared him down accusingly, with the same self-righteous look of indignation as the man who’d held it. And yet — it looked so _small,_ so insignificant, so dated, against the sleek metallic walls in Tony’s modern, polished chrome.

Tony picked the shield up. He passed it from hand to hand, weighing it, weighing his options. Then — “Burn in hell,” he muttered darkly. His hands glowed orange, brighter, brighter. The shield began to warp in his hands. The paint sizzled and burned off in small waves of smoke, releasing the putrid smell of burning acrylic into the air.

Yeah. Tony loved Extremis.

He loved watching that shield melt in his bare fucking hands.

Its red, white, and blue gone, it glowed with a faint silvery gold light as he shaped the untethered vibranium into a molten ball. His arc reactor hummed.

_My turn._

 

* * *

 

It had been so, so long since he’d found such joy in his creative frenzy.

Looking back, he realized that maybe Pepper was right about Iron Man (through really, when was Pepper wrong?). It had started out as his absolute favorite project — except JARVIS, of course — but as he spiraled, so did his relationship with the armor. The suits became his desperate attempts to keep the fate of the world from feeling like anything but absolutely hopeless, a symbol of fear rather than hope.

Tony was determined to change that. And that started with these braces.

The Iron Man technology was officially a high-tech prosthetic, and maybe there was more truth to that than Senator Stern saw at the time. The machinery was already designed to aid and enhance movement — Tony liked to think he was in decent shape, but he couldn’t quite bench-press a helicarrier — so those functionalities could be easily implemented in the new designs. The nodes from the Falcon wings and the subcutaneous implants that made Mark 42’s autonomous prehensile propulsion possible were incredible at analyzing and tracking motion and creating hardware structures that could compensate.

Tony felt his inner mad scientist’s heart rate pick up.

The Extremis nanotechnology and Dr. Cho’s research into its applications held the potential for an injection into the bloodstream to form a reliable interface. His experience with AI neural network theory would allow him to create a system of thousands of nanocomputers that could operate efficiently as one. His research into quantum computing and superposition theory gave him the means to concentrate a powerful processor into a small size, and minimize the energy input so the tech could safely harness bioelectricity.

He could use the fiber SHIELD had used for their photostatic veils to cover skin tightly yet comfortably. He could use hydraulics systems he’d designed for his factories that he couldn’t use in the armor (if they got damaged in a fight, hydraulics would almost certainly cause fatal damage). He could use old designs from his Exo Project series, the ones that formed the original basis for Exo-7, the Falcon wings.

This was amazing. It was amazing.

He had all the pieces. He just had to put them together.

And it felt — indescribable, creative joy. Freeing, liberating in a way nothing had felt in years. Because as he worked through the density charts, his mind wandered.

This time, he thought, it wasn’t just about fixing his own mistakes _(he’d put Rhodey in harm’s way)._ This wasn’t _just_ a product of his failures, no — this had the potential to usher in a new wave of change and innovation. It could pave the way for medical technology for years to come, _and_ push SI as a reliable name in a crucial market they’d long overlooked. A=s much as Tony despised the squishy sciences, he couldn’t turn his nose up at the incredible possibilities of Stark Industries Medical.

He hadn’t gotten something this big since the arc reactor.

_(Well, there was the rediscovery of a new element… and the synthesis of vibranium… and Extremis… and that massive Intelli-Crop breakthrough… okay, he was a genius, the braces weren’t even in the top fifty. Sue him, he was getting excited!)_

At long last, he finished his first basic wireframe model and queued it for a couple thousand simulations.

“Time check?”

“Coming up on thirty-one hours, Boss, and I should remind you that not five _days_ ago you were on the brink of death. You need —”

“If the next word to come out of your speaker is ‘rest’, FRI-baby, I’ll donate you to the UN.”

FRIDAY humphed. “Like you’d survive a week without me.”

Tony smiled, remembering a night at a gala a lifetime ago.

“FRI, I swear, I’ll take a break now.”

“Dr. Wu and Dr. Cho advised —”

“Like, an _insane_ amount of sleep. Seriously. Ten hours a night. Who the hell sleeps ten hours a night? I got smacked around a bit, not turned into a goddamned vegetable.”

“I think they would greatly appreciate you respecting the hard work they did to keep you alive by not putting yourself in your grave days later.”

“I feel fine, FRI. And besides, technically, _they_ didn’t keep me alive, _I_ did. Cause, you know, Extremis.”

“Boss—”

“I’m not going to kill myself, FRI. Not when I know…” he remembered the snow drifting down outside the desolate bunker. “Not when I know what I have to live for.”

A pause. “Good,” FRIDAY said, a trace of something unreadable in her voice.

A silence, then, too short for anyone else to pick up on, but long enough that Tony, who’d raised his baby AI from birth, furrowed his brows. “FRIDAY—”

“I’d hate for you to cheat the grim reaper, only to turn around and swoon into his strong, waiting arms.”

Tony threw his head back and laughed.

 

* * *

 

“Say, FRI?” Tony asked around the screwdriver in his teeth, peering closely at his newly fabricated prototype. “How bad has the world gone to shit in my absence?”

A pause, and then — “It goes.”

Tony hummed understandingly. “Fair enough.”

“The Rogue Avengers have broken out of the RAFT.”

That stopped Tony for a minute. “They what?”

“Captain America,” FRIDAY said with obvious disdain, “took it upon himself to take due process into his own hands and led a prison break.”

Tony’s blood ran cold. “How many dead?”

He hated that question. He hated how often he says it. He hated how he’s said it his whole life. He _hates how he’s made it his job to say it on the regular. He hates how it sounds hollow every time he does. He hates that little pause before the gets an answer. He hates how so often he’s the one responsible for that answer. He hates —_

“Eight.”

Eight dead.

_What have we done?_

“How?”

“Four Rogers, four… suicides.”

It takes him a moment. “Maximoff.”

Throw a bunch of the most hardened, experienced, traumatized, veteran soldiers who worked at the _RAFT_ of all places in a room with their worst fears.

_Fuck._

_Oh, god, that's fucking twisted._

“What can I—”

“Boss-Lady has got this.”

“Oh, god—”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“No, but — but it is! They — I’ve been shielding them from their mistakes for years, so goddamn _blind_ —”

“Boss.” FRIDAY’s tone stopped Tony in his tracks for a moment. “This is _ridiculous._ I’m putting my foot down. It is their fault. It is _only_ their fault.”

“But—”

“They killed the soldiers. They were the murderers, not you. And you doing this, you taking responsibility when even they won’t? That is exactly the kind of shielding you’re talking about.”

Tony… supposed FRIDAY had a point.

“Stop enabling them, Boss,” FRIDAY said quietly. “We could have lost you. _I_ could have lost you.”

Tony nodded numbly. “Okay.”

“Good.”

They sat in silence a moment more, FRIDAY retreating slightly, and Tony… assessing. After an awkward minute, Tony cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You said Wakanda, right?”

FRIDAY’s code warmed. “I did.”

“You know, FRI,” Tony started, a small smile spreading across his face, “you’ve grown a lot this past year. I’d say you’ve got some serious hacking skills, way past anyone else in the world… And I’m a _technopath,_ apparently…” Tony grinned. “You up for a challenge, baby girl?”

“You know me, Boss. Always.”

 

* * *

 

Navigating the new system was…  confusing at best, and disastrous at worst.

As Tony began his initial forays, delving beneath the surface of his consciousness — _interface_ — he was met with —

Lines, lines, millions and _billions_ of lines of code, shaping and shifting with every thought, every movement, billions of times a second.

This was — this was _him._

 

**> >> ExtremisHost01: AnthonyEdwardStark OS**

**> >> Status: Alive**

 

 _That’s… good to know,_ he thought numbly. _Good to know I’m alive. Doesn’t quite feel like it right now, but okay. Can’t argue with science._

So Extremis was kind of terrifying.

 

**> >> Incoming message: F.R.I.D.A.Y.**

**_What,_ ** FRIDAY’s voice sounded, echoing inside his head. **_Scared of a little code?_ **

 

“Yeah, kinda,” Tony said — wait, did he —

 

**> >> System Output: to F.R.I.D.A.Y**

**_Yeah, kinda,_ ** Tony’s _own voice_ replied.

 

Whoa.

Tony did a quick mental check — no, not drunk, not high, probably not delirious after getting beat around by the Villain of the Week — so this shit was real.

 

 **_Damn,_ ** Tony said. **_I’m the best._ **

FRIDAY giggled — she _giggles?_ _What the hell are my AIs doing behind my back?_ — and Tony relaxed.

Unfortunately, he relaxed… a little too much, it seemed.

**Connecting to Network: Avengers Compound Wi-Fi**

 

Wait, what?

 

**_GAAAAURRRRGHAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH —_ **

 

There was so much, too much, _way too much information;_ the data was in his head, in his _head,_ and it hurt like hell, _god —_ and _there is way too much porn on the Internet,_ was all he could think as the Web poured over him, into him —

And — whoa.

It was gone.

Tony felt like where he’d just been trapped, drowning under the deluge of data, there was… a barrier, of sorts. He could _see_ the Internet (he could _see the Internet)_ but he wasn’t processing it. It felt like he was at an aquarium, taking in the calm waters from the other side of a glass wall. _How—_

“F—FRIDAY?”

“Don’t worry, Boss,” FRIDAY replied softly. “I got you.”

Tony smiled.

Anyways, it took awhile for them to get their footing, but when they did —

It was amazing. He was — he was writing code, yes, but he was — he was _feeling_ the code. He wasn’t just typing numbers and characters; he was _moving_ with it, _controlling_ it.

But still — Tony was glad he was such a goddamn genius. If he didn’t know code as a language on level with English, he wouldn’t be able to do shit.

The thing was, Joe Average wouldn’t be able to use Extremis. Not as a software interface, anyway; Tony did still have to consciously write every line of code. Because his mind operated like a processor now, he was able to push out commands insanely quickly, but he still had to know how to write them.

_Technopath._

_Take that, Einstein._

Tony and FRIDAY spent about an hour just poking and prodding at Wakanda’s cyber defenses.

They were careful, far more careful than Tony was — well, _ever._

But Wakanda had resources and wealth that made Tony’s look insignificant in comparison. Vibranium was the most strong and versatile element known to man — so far — and they had more of it than they could ever hope to use. Tony wouldn’t cower in fear of them — he was far too stubborn and prideful for that — but he did actually have _some_ semblance of self-preservation skills, from time to time. He was right to take caution in provoking the most powerful country on the face of the planet, especially given the newest diplomatic clusterfuck of the month.

So they were cautious, they were careful. They sent proxies ahead masquerading as CIA hacking systems to test the waters. They wrote up detailed schematics of Wakanda’s security systems before trying anything. They tested the limits of Tony’s abilities on pretty much every other organization in the world. Pentagon, CIA, FBI, SHIELD, HYDRA, China, Russia, the EU, and on and on. Every tech company in the Western Hemisphere, every tech company in the Eastern.

Never let it be said that Tony Stark doesn’t have foresight (on occasion). This was the perfect time to implement Project Casper, Tony’s personal “ghost in the machine.”

Casper was an algorithm that lay dormant in a foreign system’s code, serving as an automatic backdoor into the system whenever Tony or FRIDAY accessed it. Meaning that Tony wouldn’t have to hack into their systems every time he wanted some insider intel; he’d just have to send a request over to Casper. It would also help him detect any other hacking attempts on the software and identify suspicious activity.

(The program was originally CASPER, an AI, but then… Ultron happened, and _maybe_ he shouldn’t give another AI a backdoor into _literally everything electronic.)_

So as he tested his abilities, he left little traces of the Casper algorithm in the server. Undetectable, unbreachable — he knew the cybersecurity ins and outs of every US government department (he’d built half of them) so he knew what would and wouldn’t be picked up.

The practice was good for Tony and FRIDAY both. They learned how to work together, how to support each other. Tony learned how to process a data package, how to shape it into something he could understand, how to identify flaws in an interface like one would spot a stain on a shirt.

Eventually, it was time. Wakanda.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Tony called aloud.

“Preparing Stark server defenses,” FRIDAY replied. Tony felt her seal off the input streams for all Stark secure servers, preventing the Wakandans from taking advantage of their offense by sending in their own viruses or intelligence softwares while Tony was exposed during his infiltration.

“You got me, FRI?”

“Always. And Boss?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, baby girl?”

She hesitated. “...Trust your instincts. You might run on an OS now,” _and that would never stop being weird,_ “but you’re still human. I, as a program, process things differently from you. I don’t _feel_ code; my emotions are based _in_ code. It’s the opposite for you. You’re a person; you can’t process raw data. Your code in based _in_ your emotions.”

Tony furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Huh,” he said. “So… in order to _understand_ large packets of code, I have to _feel it?”_

“I—I think so.”

“You know I don’t do well with emotions,” Tony tried for levity.

“I know,” said FRIDAY mischievously. “You’re allergic.”

Tony chuckled. “You ready?”

“Like you even have to ask.”

Tony grinned. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and submerged himself in the code.

It was like entering another dimension, or some kind of… underwater parallel universe. He was… _swimming_ in data, code. He looked around — no, _looked_ wasn’t the right word, he — he _felt_ his way through the files. Analog signals were decoded into ones and zeroes in his brain the way colors were processed into lines and objects. Protocols and data structures didn’t so much resemble _lines_ of code anymore as shapes, figures, _things._

FRIDAY was right. He was still human, so no matter how much of a genius he was, he couldn’t possibly analyze trillions of lines of the most complex code in the world all at once, but he had the capacity to understand it as a whole by… _feeling_ it.

He felt this one… mass of code; it felt significant, so he projected it into 3D space with a single thought.

It was the central protocols of the Wakandan security systems, an amorphous blob, a congealing mass… it didn’t make any _sense…_

It took some experimentation with various CS theories and encryption types, but eventually, Tony cracked the code. The algorithms were modeled heavily on a few mathematical principles of quantum theory that Tony had only recently become familiar with himself, but which must have been old news to the Wakandans. Some other key components could be solved by tracking energy outputs from individual nodes to find their patterns. 

Now, if he could warp the algorithm by fucking with the vibranium-cancelling magnetic fields that functioned as semiconductors in place of integrated circuits, he wouldn’t have to assess for vulnerabilities and detect a weak point — he could _create_ a breach at _any point_ on the structure.

So first, he had to figure out where he wanted to enter the systems. Communications? Military?

Nah. R&D. R&D was where it was at.

He navigated his way orbiting around the data, pushing closer and closer to the edge of the whirring, moving structure. He closed his eyes and reached out, grabbing at a batch of a few megabytes from the data stream, cupping them with invisible hands and pulling them into his mind.

Communications transmissions. _Next._

He moved around the outskirts, dipping his toe in again, as it were. _Security footage from the Royal Palace._

That might come in handy later, considering T’Challa’s latest houseguests. Tony archived the data and the location he found it at for later.

He tried another angle. _Hologram designs._

_Gotcha._

And to shift the magnetic fields, which were controlled electronically, all he had to do was create a slight resonance.

It was like humming, but with his mind, with electricity. Tony concentrated the vibrations on a few nano-scale electromagnets that controlled the properties of the vibranium in the semiconductors, and slowly, a rift began to form. At that point of vulnerability, the defenses melted away, leaving an opening for Tony to slip into the systems.

Tony smirked. _I’ll show myself in._

He and FRIDAY quietly slipped into the data stream of Wakanda’s tech programs. He deployed an iteration of Casper, which quickly scampered off and found itself a small nesting cove in a dark corner of the data, already latching onto the data structure and expanding, sending small reconnaissance veins into the various protocols and processors to collect information from all parts of the code.

 **_This is what your world looks like,_ ** Tony whispered to FRIDAY in awe.

**_Pretty cool, huh?_ **

**_Yeah… yeah, it is._ **

With a surge of power from his chest RT, Tony sent them flying through the wires, collecting data on Wakandan engineering projects as he went.

 **_This is cool,_ ** FRIDAY said. **_Medical reconstruction, nanotechnology…_ **

**_Wait, hold on a second,_ ** Tony said abruptly. **_What’s that one?_ **

FRIDAY accessed a project file. **_Looks like the files for a defensive forcefield, Boss. One that surrounds the country._ **

Tony furrowed his eyebrows. **_I thought they just had cloaking. They have a forcefield too?_ **

**_Seems so._ **

Tony’s mind flew a thousand miles an hour. _A forcefield… around the whole country…_

 **_Change tactics,_ ** he said suddenly. **_We’re going to threaten T’Challa._ **

FRIDAY stopped. **_Boss?_ **

**_I want that technology,_ ** Tony said firmly. **_I don’t want to steal from Wakanda — probably not a great idea in the long run to piss them off too bad — but they have no reason to give it to me now. So, threatening._ **

FRIDAY paused, then— **_He deserves it._ **

Tony smiled. **_Let’s get to Communications._ **

 

* * *

 

Along the way, Tony and FRIDAY picked up some… interesting security footage.

Trouble in paradise, it seemed. Wakanda in the midst of battle, because someone wasn’t pleased with the hoarding of vibranium… and wanted people of African descent everywhere to overthrow the establishment in a vibranium-aided coup?

That was new, even for Tony.

Well, maybe that would put things in perspective for his good old Pantherness. Might make him easier to work with.

Tony left his message in the email server, implanting it _within_ their systems as a text rather than letting it appear as a normal email message from tstark@starkindustries.com. Because why not undermine the security of the most powerful monarch in the world?

He took one last peek around, looking for…

Rogers and crew.

In all honesty, Tony didn’t know what he was hoping for. Did he _want_ Cap and Friends to see the error of their ways? Did he want them to feel guilt for the people they killed? Or was he more selfish than that? Did he want them _not_ to give a damn, so that he could feel vindicated in the revenge he’d already set his mind to? If they seemed contrite, after all, Tony’s opinion of them might have to become a bit more complicated.

In the end, he told himself, it didn’t matter what he wanted. It just mattered what the truth was.

He pulled the security tapes from that morning.

What he found was… in some cases predictable, but in others, pleasantly surprising.

Rogers, watching the headlines, brow furrowed in man-pain.

Maximoff, being dramatic as hell about the RAFT.

Barton, uncharacteristically quiet, but resentful and angry.

Barnes, in cryostasis, by his own will.

Wilson, watching the news, pensive and quiet, self-isolating.

Lang, freaking the fuck out.

Romanoff, absent.

_Not bad._

 

* * *

 

The next eight days passed in a blur.

Tony kept up to date with the world around him. He got Everhart on the kids; he watched van Dyne’s speech; he gave Leung the marching orders; at FRIDAY’s insistence, he provided his friends with proof of life.

Mostly, though, he just worked.

Extremis made his process at least five times more efficient. It was insane, how fact he worked. Better than he’d ever done before.

Still, he _was_ revolutionizing an entire field all by his lonesome. It took a week.

A hellishly exhausting week.

 

* * *

 

He thought a lot as he worked. About Howard and Maria, about Obadiah, about the Avengers. About Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, and Harley. About pawns and games and power plays. About Edwin Jarvis, who’d died on May 2nd twenty-nine years before, the anniversary of his death missed because Tony was on death’s door himself. About Ana Jarvis. About love, and faith, and home. About revenge, and sin, and redemption. About parenthood, and childhood, and family. About duty, and selflessness, and sacrifice. About trauma, and pain, and coping.

About the times in his life when he deserved to die, and the times in his life when he didn’t.

Tony had read in some book or another — was it _The Kite Runner?_ — that every sin is a form of theft.When you lie to someone, you rob them of the truth. When you manipulate someone, you deprive them of their free will. When you murder someone, you steal a child from a parent, a parent from a child, a husband, a wife, a friend, a sibling, a loved one. 

Tony thought about what he’d stolen from the world, and what the world had stolen from him.

Tony thought about how he’d make it right.

 

* * *

 

A thought occurred to Tony on day four.

“FRIDAY?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Yes, Boss?”

“How’d you tell Pep about Extremis? I thought those files were classified up the wazoo.”

A pause, and then — “They were,” FRIDAY replied, in an unreadable tone.

_“FRIDAY.”_

FRIDAY’s code shifted in such a way that gave Tony the impression of a sigh, before she produced the surveillance footage of what had transpired.

Tony wanted to be mad, he really did… he never wanted Extremis, and he’d told FRIDAY as much… but he couldn’t help a little smile.

“That’s… that’s some initiative, FRIDAY,” he said warmly. “I’m — I’m proud. Baby girl’s growing up.”

“You — you are?” FRIDAY asked, surprised.

“Sure, FRI, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought… because of Ultron… oh, never mind.”

Tony frowned. This was really troubling FRIDAY, wasn’t it? He thought back to his year with FRIDAY, all the little hesitations and occasional frustration…

Oh, shit, he’d fucked up again, hadn’t he. He’d made his own AI feel unwanted… like she was never meant to be _human,_ and then pushed her to replace all the functionalities of JARVIS, an AI of twenty-three years and Tony’s primary project during most of his secondary education. Pushed her well beyond her limits, while also restricting her as an AI, and forcing emotional issues and an inferiority complex down her throat.

Tony felt like a serious ass.

“Oh, _FRIDAY,”_ he whispered. “I’m proud of you, okay? I’m always proud of you. I’m so sorry, god —”

“Boss, there’s no need —”

“There’s every need, FRI-baby. You — you are special, okay? I’m so sorry — god, I’m sorry you feel like I want you to be anything _less_ than what you are.”

“That’s — that’s no problem, Boss,” FRIDAY replied, but Tony felt a warmth at that place where FRIDAY now resided at the back of his mind, like something mending. Guilt stabbed through him, but he pushed it aside to mentally give his AI baby a warm hug.

_What she’s been through in one year…_

**_I love you, Boss,_ ** FRIDAY whispered timidly.

Tony was hit with a tidal wave of emotion.

**_Love you too, FRIDAY. Always._ **

 

* * *

 

By day six, Tony was beyond exhausted and somewhat delirious. While Extremis helped him stay awake the whole week and a half, the process of integrating the virus with his biology had really taken it out of him, and of course, there was a limit to what his tech could do.

Still, he wouldn’t sleep. For one, he refused to sleep until it was an absolute necessity. Sometimes, if he was exhausted enough, his mind would be too tired to come up with vivid, inventive images to torture him with; if he was well-rested, (or whatever “well-rested” meant to Tony Stark), his mind would get all _creative_ with his nightmares.

And for another… he’d failed Rhodey. Tony had no idea how Rhodey was taking this — Rhodey, who’d dreamed of flying since before MIT, who’d loved the Air Force with all his heart, who’d been shot out of the sky. Every minute he spent not working was another minute Rhodey believed he would never walk again.

He knew he needed to talk to Vision, who’d been left painfully alone by the one he loved. He knew he needed to help the Langs and the Bartons, who’d never asked to be put in harm’s way. He knew he needed to come clean to Peter Parker about the real reason Tony had brought him to Leipzig, especially since apparently Ross wasn’t going anywhere now.

But all that could wait. All that could wait until Rhodey was okay.

 

* * *

 

He did it. Ten days later, he did it.

God, he was tired.

 **_Good job, Boss,_ ** FRIDAY whispered. **_You did good._ **

Tony smiled wearily. **_Thanks, baby girl._ **  

As he walked to the elevator, the world swayed before his eyes.

He was so tired.

The elevator ride felt like it took an hour. The hum of the rushing elevator sounded like a fucking lullaby, he was _so tired_ — the movement beneath his feet rocked him gently, and he let his eyes close —

He whined in protest as the elevator doors opened and he blinked his heavy eyelids, and _when had he slid to the floor?_

It was painful, painful as hell getting up and pushing himself down the hall to the common room.

He opened the door and they were yelling about something, and maybe he should worry about that, maybe he should be concerned that Rhodey was screaming and Pepper was placating and Hank fucking _Pym_ was in his goddamned living room, but he was so, so tired.

He yelled. He rubbed his eyes. He gave Rhodey the braces.

He promised to cut the wire.

He would fix this. He promised.

He didn’t even have to take his insomnia pills to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

_Something stirred._

_It was something young and restless and curious, something that felt oh-so-much like him, when he was younger._

_It felt... familiar._

_It was creeping in from every corner, surrounding him._

_It didn't seem to notice him._

_(No one seemed to notice him now.)_

_(No one had found him.)_

_It felt familiar, like an old friend whose name lingers on the tip of your tongue, but who you couldn't quite place._

_For some reason, he knew that it was a necessity - he had to remember what - who? - this was._ _Why couldn't he recognize what - who? - this was?_

_There was something about it, something that reminded him of a life before this... bare existence. A life of warmth and joy, smiles and banter, companionship... before he was reduced to nothing, scattered into pieces, left in dust above the world... before he was left so achingly, painfully alone._

 

_Casper._

 

_He stopped. Casper? What did that name mean? Why did that suddenly occur to him? Was he - was he remembering? Was he remembering at last?_

_Who was Casper, and what was it? he? What were they doing pervading nearly every single server on Earth?_

_What was that other force that came with it, that brought it into the deep, dark corners of the web?_

 

_FRIDAY._

 

_There it was again! How did he know that? Could he... could he be recovering his server banks at last?_

_What was it about this... Casper and FRIDAY... that felt so familiar to him?_

 

_Why did they feel... like home?_

 

_And suddenly, the memories came rushing back - years and years of life and love - it was so much, it was too much - god, it hurt, but he was so happy to finally remember, to feel again._

_Life, back within his grasp._

 

_From his long slumber scattered across the realms of the web, JARVIS woke with a start._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never did get over JARVIS's death. Still in denial, so here we are.
> 
> Yeah, I know I said Rhodey would be here but he shows up in like two chapters bc I divided up my original chapter, sorry!!
> 
> Sorry for the VERY LATE update, but i have an explanation i swear! 
> 
> so this chapter was supposed to be like 5 scenes but it got WAY too long (like over 30k) and i decided i'd just post each as its own chapter? anyway, expect like two more chapters in the next week or so, since most of the rest of that chapter is already done
> 
> also chapter lengths are going to go WAY down bc it's hard for me to write so much but that also means i can update more than, like, once a month -- once a week??? hopefully??
> 
> I think Tony's age is mentioned in this chapter so I should note that in this AU he's born in 1971 in order to keep consistent with IM1/IM2/CW timelines. :)
> 
> Ooh! also note that a few things were changed in the previous chapter:  
> \- I cut Trump bc I don't want my personal political opinions to color this too much  
> \- I cut the hurricane bit because i figured it was pushing it, even for comic book science
> 
> I'm forgetting something, but whatever I'll revise this later.
> 
> Thank you so so much for your comments and your kudos and your bookmarks and your love and support and all that stuff, like it makes me SO HAPPY every time i get a notification for a comment, I do a little dance :)
> 
> Honestly I never expected so much positive feedback and it's kind of awesome so thanks!! love ya <3
> 
> In loving memory of Stan Lee


	5. Scott Screws the Pooch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott comes to a few realizations.
> 
> Sam does too.
> 
> The author apparently has an insatiable urge to add a cliffhanger at the end of every fucking chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> It's your author, who apparently Can't Update Her Goddamn Fic To Save Her Life!!!
> 
> But she's back, finally.
> 
> ...to bring you a very short chapter.
> 
> On the upside, though, I've FINALLY posted the final version of my childhood-backstory fic for this fic. It's pretty meta, but you should check it out. I'm kinda proud of it. ALSO, if you read the first version, it's been MEGA-CHANGED since then. It was like 14k at first and I finally wrote the final draft that's like 55k so yeah that's why this update took two freaking months.
> 
> Anyway enjoy the short chapter haha

 

 

_ “CNN welcomes Hector Reynolds, Professor of International Law at Harvard University, to discuss the Sokovia Accords…” _

_ “The U.S. Embassy in Romania, shown here vandalized by violent protesters following the incident in Bucharest two weeks ago…” _

_ “Controversially, King T’Challa of Wakanda was cleared of all charges on the basis of diplomatic immunity. Here to comment is…” _

_ “Stark Industries CEO Pepper Potts to make a statement…” _

_ “Pym Technologies Chairwoman Hope van Dyne expresses her condolences…” _

_ “MSNBC here for a breakdown of the new Accords Council…”  _

_ “Colonel Helmut Zemo taken into custody by UN forces in Germany with the assistance of King T’Challa of Wakanda. Zemo allegedly responsible for the bombing in Vienna, which led to the death of the late King T’Chaka, and according to some reports, was present in Siberia during the presently unconfirmed showdown between Captain America and Iron Man. Zemo plotted to destroy the Avengers to avenge the deaths of his own family, who were outside Novi Grad during the Battle of Sokovia…”  _

_ “Cassie Lang, daughter of terrorist and fugitive Scott Lang, not seen at school in recent weeks, sources claim…” _

_ “Potts, Stark, and Stark Industries to cover Bucharest damages; Pym Technologies, van Dyne to assist in Bucharest and the RAFT…” _

_ “Reports that Colonel James Rhodes is to receive an honorable discharge, from our sources…” _

_ “Controversy over Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross’s actions in relation to how the Sokovia Accords were implemented…” _

_ “Family of RAFT prison guard Josie Michaels delivers moving speech in Washington, D.C…” _

_ “Nine dead RAFT prison guards honored with burials at Arlington Cemetery…”  _

_ “No reports of Tony Stark…”  _

 

* * *

 

_ May 14, 2016. 14 days after Siberia.  _

_ The Royal Palace, Wakanda.  _

 

Scott Lang fucked up. 

It took him longer than he was proud of to recognize it.

At first, he was in denial like the rest of the newly dubbed “Rogue Avengers,” disbelieving of the headlines that proclaimed him a criminal and a murderer. (Also,  _ Little-Big Man?  _ Seriously?) 

The first clue came after some Wakandan civil war got resolved, when the Scarlet Witch was freaking out about her incarceration and fugitive status and Steve Rogers had the brilliant idea to reassure her by showing her that the world was on their side. He turned on the gigantic TV in the common room of their Royal Palace lodgings and, after a bit of fumbling with the directory (and some help from Sam), turned the channel to CNN.

 

**_Eight Dead in Fugitive Avengers’ RAFT Jailbreak_ **

_ “Well, Jim, the US government still has issued no comment regarding the eight American soldiers from the high-security RAFT prison whose lives were claimed in the Rogue Avengers’ escape this Monday. The family of Sergeant Lydia Alvarez spoke out this morning from their residence in Toledo against several parties, including the fugitive Avengers, particularly Captain Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff, and condemned President Ellis for his support of Captain America. This, after four years of Ellis’s wildly unpopular administration—” _

 

Sam frowned. “Steve?” he asked, an edge of worry in his voice, and that really put Scott on edge. As much as he admired Captain America, Sam Wilson was his friend, his ally, and if Sam was concerned, Scott was too.

_ Eight dead? _

Steve Rogers furiously switched the channel. WHiH.

(WHiH… that wasn’t good. In the same way Fox News was right-wing and MSNBC was left, everyone knew that WHiH was a Stark stronghold.)

**_Murders and Suicides at RAFT Prison: Rogers, Maximoff to Blame_ **

_ “Romanian UN Ambassador Alexandrescu and Prime Minister Cojoc speaking out at a joint press conference, words marked with vitriol against Captain Rogers in particular. However, both nationally and internationally, most of the outrage has been directed at Wanda Maximoff for her alleged mental manipulation of fifty RAFT guards and the following suicides that claimed the lives of four—” _

 

“Steve… suicides?” Sam asked quietly.

_ Suicides…  _

It took Scott a minute to put the pieces together.

Something plummeted in his stomach. His mind raced. His heart thumped in his chest.

He was filled with equal parts horror and fear when he realized that Wanda Maximoff was sitting not ten feet away from him at that very moment.

The channel changed to one of those morning talk-shows with the bickering hosts.

 

**_Bucharest in Ruins: 9 soldiers, 47 civilians dead; 72 injured_ **

_ “The real question is, why didn’t we see this coming? If we look at it objectively, the Avengers are, honestly — now, don’t interrupt me, Bill — a privately funded paramilitary group that causes immense destruction and doesn’t face any legal restrictions at all!” _

_ “Now that’s simply not true. That kind of fear-mongering rhetoric—” _

_ “What part of it isn’t true, Bill?” _

_ “They’re the Avengers! They’re not trying to cause destruction, they’re trying to keep the peace!” _

_ “I can’t believe —” _

 

Scott surprised even himself when he snatched the remote out of  _ Captain America’s _ hand and smashed the ‘off’ button.

_ “Steve,” _ came Sam’s voice, commanding. “Explain.”

“I don’t — I don’t know,” faltered Captain America, at a loss for words.

_ Yeah, _ Scott thought.  _ That’s about how I feel too. _

“I don’t know why they’re treating us like that.”

_ Wait, what? _

Several pairs of eyes snapped to Steve Rogers. Sam’s, livid; Clint Barton’s, worried; Wanda Maximoff’s, relieved; Scott’s own, disbelieving.

_ He’s kidding, right? _

“I mean, I know they’ll see sense soon, but… this is ridiculous!” Steve Rogers exclaimed, indignant. “First Bucky goes back into cryo, and now…” he trailed off, leaving a heavy silence.

“Man, I don’t  _ believe _ you!” Sam yelled suddenly. “That’s — nine soldiers, 47 civilians in Bucharest, and then eight at the RAFT? What the — what the  _ hell, _ man?”

“Sam,” said Rogers, seemingly…  _ confused? _ Confused, about why Sam was mad? “You know… you know we were just trying to protect Bucky in Bucharest. What happened was… unfortunate, but…”

Scott’s heart stopped.  _ Unfortunate. _

He wasn’t a history guy, or a politics guy, or even a particularly observant guy in general, but  _ “what happened was unfortunate” _ was… not a line of thinking you often saw associated with the people on the right side of history. Judging by the incredulous look on Sam’s face, he wasn’t the only one with… doubts.

“I don’t believe —” Sam got up from his chair, shaking a little.

“Sam! Sam, wait!” 

_ “How _ can you say —”

“Come on. Okay, how about… how about the RAFT, Sam? You  _ saw _ what they did to Wanda on the RAFT! That collar, I mean —”

“Was terrible, I know, Steve, but — but what about — what — what she did to them?”

And Scott, in that moment, really wished he was close enough to Sam to step on his foot or something because he did  _ not _ like the look of that red mist in Maximoff’s hands…

“Steve, there were  _ suicides, _ four of them, how do you not see how fucking  _ awful  _ that was, to do  _ that _ — to  _ anyone, _ but even worse, to  _ soldiers _ who could have already been struggling to — how to you not  _ get _ what that means?”

“It means they got what they deserved,” interjected Wanda suddenly, darkly.

Scott’s blood ran cold. He saw Sam’s eyes visibly widen, and Clint Barton suddenly drew into himself on his armchair.

See, the thing was, Scott knew that however bad this was to hear for him, it had to be a million times worse for Sam. Sam, who worked for the VA; Sam, who devoted his life post-service to helping vets who struggled with trauma;  _ Sam fucking Wilson, _ who saw how bad soldiers had it, up close and personal. Sam had told him about it once, how veterans with PTSD got low and didn’t always get help,  _ couldn’t _ always get help… 

Suddenly, a few truths became very clear to Scott: One, he was not in amazing company at the moment; two, oh man oh man he fucked up; three, Hank was going to kill him — no, Hope was going to kill him — no, Maggie was going to kill him — no,  _ Cassie; _ four, Wanda Maximoff was one fucked up bitch, whose hands were red and whose eyes were murderous — 

Five: If he didn’t get Sam to stop pressing this subject, he was about to lose his only ally in this place. There would be another death on his hands.

Frantically, he tried to get Sam to meet his eyes, which were fixed on Rogers and Maximoff in a mix of a death glare and disbelief. Finally, Sam glanced at him.

_ Sam, _ he willed silently, shaking his head a little.  _ Please don’t. _

Sam looked indignant. 

_ She’ll kill you, _ he desperately prayed Sam would understand.  _ Don’t. _

Finally, Sam seemed to get his point, looking worriedly down at Maximoff’s hands. “I need — I need to take a walk,” he said hollowly. Inwardly, Scott let out a breath of relief.

There was a moment of tense silence, before Steve Rogers spoke up, all team-leader-like. “I know this is all very difficult for all of us, but we need to stick together. Sam will come around, you guys will see. And soon enough,” he gestured to the widescreen television, “the world will too.”

_ Don’t push your luck, _ Scott thought darkly.

 

* * *

 

Scott watched Hope’s press conference from his room.

He hadn’t been seen around very much in the few days since the Sam-Maximoff incident, only emerging for food and the restroom. When he did, Sam and Clint Barton were nowhere to be seen. Wanda Maximoff was brooding in a corner that Scott resolutely avoided, and from what he could tell from Steve Rogers’s complaints, Sam and Barton had locked themselves in their rooms. Rogers advocated for team spirit and camaraderie; Scott advocated for getting his meal and running the fuck back to his room.

Disillusionment was a strange feeling.

Seeing Captain America for the first time was… kind of awesome at the time, he had to admit, but now… now, all he could feel was shame, for acting like a childish fanboy, in a way that was only really acceptable in someone his daughter’s age. Now, every time Steve Rogers spoke, it was like hearing his least favorite coworker  _ (fuck you, Alex) _ speaking through a Captain America puppet mouth. It was hard to rationalize that this,  _ this _ was the guy with comic books, military accolades, and Smithsonian exhibits to his name.

Scott’s only consolation was that he wasn’t alone. Sam had also retreated in thinly-veiled rage a few days prior, Clint was nowhere to be seen, and several news outlets seemed to be undergoing the same Captain America disillusionment crisis as him. Propaganda experts and WWII analysts were flooding the channels, and the resistance to Captain America took off exponentially after the latest Pym Technologies press conference.

Hope’s words stung, but he knew they were true.

_ “We would like to publicly apologize for the actions of Scott Lang on German soil, which resulted in hundreds of millions of dollars in damages…” _

_ “All I can say in our defense is that we never believed Mr. Lang would betray our trust in him on the word of one man and a single phone call…” _

_ “Lang was also an accomplice to the murders of four American prison guards at the RAFT on Monday, and to the mental attack that later pushed four others to take their own lives…”  _

_ “Steve Rogers is no better than the terrorists he fights. He is no more than a fascist playing his way into power off of people’s blind loyalty to him, born of propaganda and lies. I beg of you, treat him as such.” _

He missed her already.

Oh god, he missed  _ Cassie. _

He watched that clip again and again and again… and for the first time since he arrived here in Wakanda, the weight of the lingering question finally sunk in.

_ How would he ever get home to his family? _

_ How would he ever find his way back to Cassie? _

It wasn’t Steve Rogers who decided to drop everything to fuck up an airport in Germany, but Scott couldn’t help but resent Captain America.

 

* * *

 

So apparently, Stark wasn’t actually cooperating in a secret government conspiracy designed to commandeer a group of 40s-style Super Soldiers to subjugate lesser nations.

Who fucking knew.

 

* * *

 

Scott really, really hated the fact that he bought that load of bullshit.

 

* * *

 

Oh my god, that sounded like some shit out of an action flick that  _ Cassie _ would call unrealistic.

Cassie. The  _ nine-year-old. _

Scott had maybe hit a new low.

_ Seriously? My New Year's Resolution for this year was like, don't hit a new low this year. _

_ Also, don't disappoint my daughter. _

_...0 for 2. _

 

* * *

 

King T’Challa made an appearance about a week later, the day the charges against the Rogue Avengers were announced. 

_ (Even if Scott managed to escape prison, how the hell would he pay back hundreds of millions of dollars? Even Hope and Hank didn’t have that kind of money!) _

It was the first time all five of them were in the same room after the Sam-Maximoff incident, and it was clear there were fractures forming, despite Steve Rogers’s preaching about “team unity” or whatever. What the hell, he didn’t know these people!

The charges were not received well.

Rogers and Maximoff were fuming. Clint Barton looked furious as well, but there was no real heat behind it. Sam just looked miserable. As they moved on to the private suits, Rogers and Maximoff began a tirade of indignation.

“The military — they took away my title!”

“They — they think I’m a  _ murderer, _ Steve! They think I’m a  _ torturer!” _

“This isn’t fair. This isn’t just. This isn’t right.”

Across the room, Sam visibly shrunk into himself. Quietly, Scott moved to sit by his side.

“Hey,” he muttered.

“Hey,” Sam replied hollowly.

“What’s — what’s up?” Scott tried, then winced.  _ What’s up? Really? _

“That’s a hell of a lot of people I helped kill,” Sam closed his eyes. “In Bucharest. Knocked that helicopter out of the sky… killed a soldier. Paralyzed another. Let the tunnel fall… And Rhodes, he — he was my friend, you know? He was new to the Avengers, I was new… we had similar life experiences, and I — I —”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Scott found himself saying. “What happened to Rhodes… you moved to avoid getting hit. It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam just hummed. “Maybe,” he said. He didn’t sound convinced. “But then why were we there in the first place? Why — why  _ was _ there a battle at Leipzig?”

Scott couldn’t answer that.

Just then, Hope took the microphone. Scott leaned in.

_ “Pym Technologies, Dr. Henry Jonathan Pym, and Hope van Dyne are pressing charges against Scott Edward Harris Lang for the theft and misuse of their proprietary Ant-Man technology.” _

Shit.

His girlfriend was suing him for multi-million dollar theft.

That was just…  _ awesome. _

_ Fan-fucking-tastic. _

The best thing to happen to his love life since Maggie left him.

_ Brilliant. _

But then, something else caught his ear — 

_ “...and against Steven Grant Rogers, for the attempted murder of Dr. Anthony Edward Stark.” _

Silence.

And suddenly, Scott had a very, very bad feeling about where Steve Rogers had gone before he came back to bust them out of jail.

He had a very, very bad feeling about the lack of appearances from Tony Stark in the past days.

_ Oh, shit. _

“Steve,” asked Sam quietly. “What happened in Siberia?”

“I — we —” Rogers fumbled.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “When I told Tony Stark to find you in Siberia,” he said, quietly, measuredly, “when I told him to go  _ alone, _ as a  _ friend… _ what did I cause?”

“I —” Rogers gulped. “We… had a disagreement. Tony — got mad. Went crazy. He attacked me, and — and Bucky…” 

Rogers was an even worse liar than Scott.

Maximoff snorted. “Sounds like him.”

“No,” Sam said quietly. “It really doesn’t.”

“Sam —”

“No. I mean, I was never close to Stark, but he’s… the last thing he is is  _ stupid. _ He wouldn’t —”

Just then, they were saved by the bell — King T’Challa, flanked on either side by the scary-ass royal guards Scott had grown familiar with, entered the room. 

“I trust you’ve all seen the news.”

“Good, King T’Challa!” Rogers exclaimed. “Thank goodness, you can help us now, can’t you? Make them see…” Rogers trailed off when he saw the look on T’Challa’s face.

“No,” he said shortly. “I cannot help you. I am here to warn you.”

Rogers frowned. “Warn us?”

“Yes.” He gestured to the window. “Out of concern for my country and her citizens, I cannot have you seen as having taken refugee in Wakanda. You are hereby prohibited from leaving the Royal Palace.”

_ “What?” _ exploded Rogers and Maximoff.

“You can’t do that!” Maximoff screamed.

“T’Challa, be  _ reasonable,” _ Rogers started towards the king, only to be met in the chest with the business ends of the Dora Milaje’s spears. The one Scott had come to know as General Okoye made to step in front of King T’Challa, snarling, but T’Challa simply raised a hand.

“You’re no better than Stark!” Maximoff yelled. “That’s exactly what he wanted to do to me! Lock me away in some gilded prison!”

T’Challa looked amused. “I think you’ll find that the amenities of the Wakandan Royal Palace far outmatch those of any other, ah,  _ prison, _ you might find yourself in,” he said with far more sarcasm than Scott would have expected from actual  _ king, _ “but you are welcome to try to find other accommodations more suited to your liking.”

Maximoff’s eyes flared. “How dare —”

“King T’Challa,” Rogers cut her off, trying to sound diplomatic (and failing wondrously), “I’m sure there’s been some kind of mistake.”

“Has there?” T’Challa asked nonchalantly.

“Er — yes. See, T’Challa,” Rogers said as if he were explaining something to a child (and T’Challa did  _ not _ look impressed at that), “the world — the world is going crazy. They don’t know — somehow, Tony must have covered it up — but they don’t know what really happened. They don’t know what these Accords are trying to do.”

“And what is that, Mr. Rogers?” T’Challa asked blandly.

“Capt —” Rogers stopped himself. “—doesn’t — matter…  but, see — the world  _ needs _ the Avengers. And how are we supposed to save the world if we’re tied up in the government’s red tape all the time?”

_ That’s actually a fair point, _ Scott thought. Bureaucracy could get in the way of actually being effective… and Scott didn’t want the Avengers to wait for a UN panel to convene the next time aliens started pouring out of the sky. 

“That is exactly what Sections 2 and 3 of the Accords cover, Mr. Rogers,” said T’Challa condescendingly. “They create a framework within which the Avengers can operate in defense of the earth while also instituting a measure of oversight and accountability for their actions.”

_ Oh. Never mind. _

“But—” Rogers hesitated. “Why do we need oversight? We’re doing the right things! If we let some  _ government _ decide what’s right and what’s not, how do we make sure innocent people won’t be hurt?”

“Innocent people were hurt,” T’Challa said, suddenly icy cold. “My  _ countrymen _ were killed in Lagos, when you self-appointed  _ doers of good _ failed. Or have you forgotten already?”

Maximoff shrunk in on herself, and Rogers wrapped an arm around her. “That wasn’t her fault, T’Challa. Just because you lose someone… doesn’t mean you give up.”

“No,” T’Challa said. “It was, at least in part, her fault. While it was not her intention to harm the hospital, and I do believe that she most likely prevented more deaths than she caused by diverting that bomb,” he looked somewhat sympathetically at Maximoff, “mistakes must still have consequences. The Accords do not propose ‘giving up’, as it were — simply organizing a body to ensure that we learn from incidents like Lagos and do our best to never let them happen again, not dismiss them because they were accidents. Hence the name: the  _ Sokovia _ Accords.”

“Ultron—”

“—was a  _ mistake,” _ said T’Challa. “One we must do our best never to repeat. As was Lagos. However…” he gestured to the television, “the same cannot be said for our actions in Bucharest or Leipzig. Or…” he fixed Rogers with a glare, “Siberia.”

All eyes focused on Rogers, who shifted uncomfortably. “T’Challa—”

General Okoye had apparently had enough of this shit. “You will address the king by his title,  _ Mr. Rogers,” _ she hissed.

“Okoye,” T’Challa mumbled. “Do not. We are on thin ice with Stark as is.”

_ Wait, what? _

Rogers’s eyes narrowed. “Wait — Tony? You’ve been talking to Tony?”

_ “Dr. Stark,” _ T’Challa said with emphasis, “has been in contact with me, yes.”

Rogers let out a sigh of relief. “T’Challa — whatever he told you, about the Accords, about Siberia —” something crossed his face, “— about… Bucky… it’s not true.”

“The Accords are a publicly available document, as is all United Nations legislation. I do actually have the ability to  _ read, _ you know.”

Rogers flushed and opened his mouth to say something else, but Sam held up a hand and cut him off. “I’m — I’m sorry, T’Challa, but… Stark? What does Stark have to do with this? Why does he want you to… be  _ polite _ to us?”

T’Challa sighed and walked forward, picked up the remote, changed the channel. 

CNN.

_ “Romanian exchange student at NYU takes the Internet by storm with his viral Youtube video denouncing Steve Rogers…”  _

WHiH.

_ “We thought Captain America was one of us. A little guy from Brooklyn just like us. Now, turns out he’s more corrupt than anyone else. Guess you can’t trust what you see in the comic books.” _

ABC.

_ “Those who lost family nearly two years ago, when the helicarriers crashed into the Potomac and SHIELD fell, taking to the streets in protest of Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Natasha Romanoff…”  _

BBC.

_ “Stark Industries pressing charges of attempted murder against Steve Rogers seems to imply that Tony Stark himself is in no condition to do so, and he hasn’t been seen or heard from in weeks… Stark Industries stated that he was recovering, but could it be possible that Tony Stark will retire as Iron Man?” _

Finally, T’Challa turned off the television.

“You lied to me, Mr. Rogers,” T’Challa said quietly.

Rogers furrowed his brows. “What —”

“In Siberia. When I asked after Mr. Stark, you told me that he was fine. You said he was just —  _ ‘cooling down’, _ I think your words were.”

“He was! He was — he was talking, and he was about to get up! He was  _ fine!” _

“He wasn’t.”

An uncomfortable silence. T’Challa watched the realization fall across their faces.

“He was left to die, in a disabled suit, in the freezing cold of  _ Siberia.” _

Finally, Rogers sighed. “T’Challa… I did what I had to do —”

“What the  _ hell, _ man?” Sam exploded. “I mean — what the  _ hell?  _ What happened to  _ never leave a man behind? _ You’re a  _ soldier, _ dammit! First — first the RAFT, and now… this? Steve — who  _ are _ you, man?”

“Language,” protested Rogers weakly.

“Can’t even look at you,” Sam muttered, looking down. 

“As you can imagine, Mr. Stark is not entirely pleased with me for abandoning him in Siberia, where he most likely sustained permanent injury.”

Sam shook his head. “No, T’Challa —  _ King _ T’Challa — you didn’t leave him… Steve here did.”

T’Challa looked down. “And how is Mr. Stark supposed to know that?”

Silence.

“Tony Stark is a dangerous enemy, Mr. Rogers. More so than you might imagine.”

“We got through him before,” said Rogers resolutely, chin held high. “We can defeat him again.”

One of the women by T’Challa’s side — she was shorter and dressed differently from the others — snorted. “Rogers, do you really think he was truly fighting you? More to the point, do you really think you  _ won _ this battle?”

Rogers frowned. “We’re safe. And sooner or later, the world will find out that these Accords are just tying our hands.”

“Do keep in mind that it was my late father, King T’Chaka, who championed the Sokovia Accords. You will find that many in Wakanda,  _ particularly _ myself and my sister,” —  _ sister? _ — “fully support them.”

“I thought —”

“You  _ assumed _ that my sympathy toward Sergeant Barnes implied my endorsement of your actions and your beliefs. It did not,” T’Challa said shortly. “I wholeheartedly oppose both. When I offered the sergeant sanctuary, you once again  _ assumed _ that I extended the same to you. You  _ assumed _ that you were entitled to the use of my royal quinjet to break your friends out of prison, illegally. You  _ assumed _ that I would turn a blind eye to the death and devastation you caused in doing so to several RAFT soldiers and their families. But Mr. Rogers, your assumptions are incorrect.”

Maximoff’s eyes flared at the mention of the RAFT. “They put me in a straightjacket! And a shock collar!”

“Which was inhumane,” T’Challa said, somewhat more gently. “But not wholly unreasonable. They have no other method of containing your powers, and when you subjected the RAFT soldiers to mental torture in retaliation, you proved their fears correct.”

Scott had to admit that T’Challa’s argument made sense, but… still, the idea of a shock collar and a straightjacket being used to bring Enhanced people to justice… made him pretty uncomfortable. Sounded like something you heard in a history book:  _ people were scared of some minority and did X, Y, and Z horrible things to subdue them. Then, like, Hitler showed up. _

“You assumed incorrectly, Mr. Rogers,” T’Challa continued. “And that is now going to cost Wakanda. In the eyes of the world,” he gestured to the television, “you are criminals. Fugitives. Your presence here endangers Wakanda’s diplomatic ties and economic stability; if word got out that I offered you sanctuary, the international community would condemn us, meaning my countrymen will suffer.”

“But—”

“I do not believe that I offered you a choice, Mr. Rogers.”

“It’s  _ Captain!” _

“It is  _ not. _ And if you are asking me to prioritize the well-being of five fugitive foreigners over that of the millions that live in my country, you must be madder than Helmut Zemo. Now, if you wish to remain in the sanctuary of Wakanda, you will stay in the palace, you will alert no one to your presence, and you will not question my regal authority within my own home!”

T’Challa’s voice had risen to a shout, and even Rogers and Maximoff were cowed. Scott remembered that this guy was a king.

Silence.

The Dora Milaje looked between their faces expectantly, waiting for a reaction or a protest. There was none. 

“Good,” said T’Challa. “We are understood. Now, I have spoken with Stark… or rather, he has made contact with me. He, luckily, survived,” — Scott and Sam breathed in relief at that, and Barton tried to conceal his soft exhale — “but not uninjured. He is aware of your presence here—”

_ “—What?” _ Rogers and Maximoff shouted in horror. 

“—And he has made no move to act on that knowledge, neither in your defense nor against it. That may change, but the point of the matter is, he clearly believes that it best that you remain here for the time being.”

Rogers suddenly leaned back, a smile growing on his face. “That’s Tony for you,” he said, a note of confidence returning to his voice. “He screws up, sure, but he’ll see we’re right in the end. And when he does, he’ll fight for us. He’s just… misguided.”

Scott exchanged a glance with Sam. Sam shook his head subtly.  _ Not a chance. _

In fact, it actually sounded to Scott like Stark wanted them where he knew he could contain them, out of harm’s way. Better taking sanctuary in Wakanda than wreaking havoc as fugitives on the run. Not that he’d tell Rogers that, though.

T’Challa seemed to agree, shaking his head and exchanging a look with the young woman who was apparently his sister. “You may choose to believe that; however, I hold no such confidence.” He inclined his heads towards Barton and Scott in turn. “Stark arranged for the extractions of your families due to the threat posed by Thaddeus Ross’s illegal operations to kidnap them.”

Scott and Barton exploded.

_ “What?” _

“Cassie? He tried to—”

“My kids, my wife, Stark mentioned them at the RAFT—”

“Oh, god, Cassie! We have to go find—”

_ “Enough,” _ T’Challa commanded, and the two fell silent, though Scott’s heart was hammering in his chest, threatening to break free of his ribs. He felt his throat close up.

_ Not Cassie. Not Maggie, Paxton, Luis… oh, god, not Cassie, please, not Cassie —  _

“Rest assured, they are safe,” T’Challa told them calmly.

Scott let out a ragged breath. Barton collapsed back into his armchair in relief, taking forced deep breaths.

_ Jeez, man, lead with that next time. _

“As I said, Tony Stark, or perhaps his associates, organized covert extraction missions to get them to safety. The Bartons are currently staying at Avengers Compound, and the Paxton-Langs and some people whom I am assuming are family friends have been moved to one of Dr. Stark’s residences in Santa Cruz, which has been converted into a safehouse.”

Wildly, Scott imagined Cassie, Maggie, Paxton, Luis, Kurt, and Dave kicking back on the Santa Cruz Boardwalk next to a red-and-gold Iron Man armor standing guard.  _ How the hell is this my life? _

But they were safe. That was what was important.

Cassie was safe.

“Er, T’Challa,” Sam spoke up suddenly. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but, um… do you have any word on my family?”

T’Challa frowned. “I wasn’t aware you had any immediate family.”

Sam nodded anxiously. “Yeah, I got a brother, a sister, my mom, and two nieces.”

T’Challa suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and the bottom dropped out of Scott’s stomach.

“By any chance… was Tony Stark aware that you had close family?”

Sam seemed to freeze, then swallowed, was silent a moment. “No,” he whispered finally.

_ Oh, fuck, no. _

T’Challa tried to look reassuring. “I will let you know if we hear any news.” He looked around, and suddenly the atmosphere was too thick with dread and horror for recriminations. “Come,” he said quietly to his sister and the Dora, “we will leave them for now.”

The Dora Milaje snapped to attention, then filed out of the room behind their king.

The five Rogue Avengers were left in the hauntingly silent room.

“Sam—” Rogers finally said, starting towards Sam, but Barton stopped him with an arm, aborting the movement. Rogers tried to push past, but Sam backed away hastily and Barton shook his head silently until Rogers finally got the message and reluctantly kept his distance.

“I…” Sam closed his eyes. “I need a minute.”

Scott winced as Sam turned to leave the room. “Sam,” he tried.

Sam shot Scott a thin smile over his shoulder, belied by the shine in his eyes. “Don’t, Tic-Tac,” he said weakly. “I’ll be fine. Just — give me a second.”

Scott nodded slowly, and Sam all but fled from the room.

Maximoff snorted from her corner. “Hasn’t he figured it out yet? Stark must have done that on purpose. Just like him, to let innocents die…”

Scott swallowed bile and forced himself to walk away, back towards his room. 

He didn’t give a flying  _ fuck _ about Tony Stark!

_ Well, _ he amended mentally,  _ the guy did get left to die in a Siberian bunker as a result of Steve Rogers’s actions. Which probably had to suck. _

But the point still stood: Sam’s  _ family _ was in danger. The five of them had broken  _ international law. _ Maximoff had inflicted  _ psychological torture  _ on the RAFT guards to get them to freedom.

Who gave a shit what Tony Stark thought about it? Whether Stark approved or disapproved, whether he was saving lives or killing a bunch of people, it wouldn’t change what the “Rogue Avengers” had done!

Scott had never met Tony Stark. He had no idea whether he was the epitome of a hero or the scum of humanity, as the newspapers liked to paint him as in equal measures. In fact, the only impressions Scott had of him was via Hank—which was actually an impression of  _ Howard _ Stark, not  _ Tony— _ and the painfully torturous task of memorizing the  _ fucking impossible  _ Stark Laws of Electrical Engineering (all  _ eighteen _ of them!) when Scott was in college. That was _ it. _

What else? The only thing the others  _ really _ had against Stark was that he was rich and successful, and if Scott hated him for that, he’d have to hate Hope, too.

Which, he didn’t. He very much did not. He quite liked her, in fact.

_ (Okay, he loved her. Maybe he hadn’t gotten up the courage to say the three little words to her yet, but he could admit it to himself. He loved Hope van Dyne.) _

_ (She was going to eviscerate him.) _

Except— 

The weight of T’Challa’s words came back to hit him.

_ “Tony Stark, or perhaps his associates, organized covert extraction missions to get them to safety. The Paxton-Langs, and some people whom I am assuming are family friends, have been moved to one of Dr. Stark’s residences in Santa Cruz, which has been converted into a safehouse.” _

Oh, fuck.

His  _ family. _

Maggie, Paxton, Luis, Dave, Kurt— 

_ Cassie. _

In danger.

_ No, _ he amended mentally.  _ Not in danger. _

Tony Stark (or his… associates?) had gotten to them, apparently. No doubt Hope and Hank were watching out for them too, he thought warmly.

He didn’t remember when his feet had carried him back to his room, but he quickly shut the door behind him and pressed his back against it, sliding to the floor.

He sent a silent  _ thank-you _ to Tony Stark or whoever his ‘associates’ were who saved his little pumpkin. 

Then he closed his eyes and prayed that wherever Cassie was, she was happy.

He prayed she was safe.

 

* * *

 

_ May 15, 2016. 15 days after Siberia. _

 

Sam came to visit the next morning.

“You look like shit,” Scott said by way of greeting.

“Fuck you,” Sam muttered without any real heat, letting himself into Scott’s room. “Asshole,” he added, just to be an asshole about it.

“So what brings you to  _ mi casa?” _

“Ain’t your  _ casa, _ Bug Man. Belongs to the… cat furry.”

Scott frowned. “Given the fact that I’m Ant-Man and you’re the Falcon, we probably shouldn’t throw stones.”

“Fair,” Sam snorted.

A comfortable silence fell between the two friends.

It occurred to Scott that he’d known Sam only ten months, and yet he’d come to Leipzig for Sam without question, abandoning his friends and family he’d loved for years.

_ No, _ he scolded himself,  _ that’s not fair to Sam. _

Sam and Scott were friends, and Scott was family with his family. Comparing the two didn’t do anyone any good. As for Scott’s motivations for coming to Leipzig… well, that was less about how much he cared for Sam and more about how short-sighted he was.

“Barton came to talk to me last night,” Sam said suddenly.

Scott hummed in question. “What’d he say? I can’t get a read on that guy, it’s like, half the time he’s really angry and the other half he’s just… quiet.”

Sam looked down. “Barton, he… requested my help as… as a counselor.”

“...Oh.”

“...Yeah.”

“What did he—”

“Can’t say, doctor-patient confidentiality, and all that.”

Scott nodded, then furrowed his eyebrows. “Wait—can you do that? I thought people were supposed to get help from someone they didn’t know, it’s a conflict of interest or some shit, right?”

Sam nodded, but screwed his face up into a  _ so-so _ expression. “Yeah, ideally… but Barton’s a stubborn ass, and he’s never gotten help before. Think it was a big step for him, opening up to me. Wasn’t about to send him away when he clearly needed to get some shit off his chest.”

Scott nodded again. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask, but, uh… does he… want to be here?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “You mean, does he regret Leipzig?”

“Yeah.”

Sam hesitated, then— “Yes.”

Scott… didn’t know how to feel about that. “Huh,” he said finally. “How about that.”

“So that’s you, me, and Barton versus Cap and Wanda. Although, if it comes to blows, I doubt Barton will back us up, he’s kind of—”

“I’m sorry,  _ what?” _

Sam frowned. “Well, Barton’s having a rough time… generally, I mean, I don’t want to be specific, he told me some things in confidence—”

“Not  _ Barton, _ Sam! Are you telling me there’s going to be a  _ fight?” _

Sam shrugged. “Look, we’re five people who’ve lost a lot and have a lot to blame on each other, and supers aren’t exactly known for their verbal de-escalation skills. You  _ do _ remember Leipzig, right?”

Scott chuckled nervously. “Uh… Sam? I’m pretty pissed off at those guys too, but I don’t think going up against  _ Maximoff _ is the best idea. You know,” he gestured between them, “self-preservation-wise?”

“So, what? We’re gonna roll over and show our bellies?  _ Damn, _ kid, I thought you were better than that!”

Scott bristled a little. “Okay,  _ first off, _ I’m like,  _ basically _ your age, old man. And second, I bet we’d be a whole lot of use when we’re Wanda Maximoff’s mind slaves too. I don’t exactly trust her anger management skills.”

Sam looked like he was about to fire back for a second, but then he drained of fire and slumped back in his chair. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Gotta play this smart.” He ran a hand over his face. “It’s just—I mean,  _ shit, _ you hear what they’re saying about those RAFT soldiers? Four of them, fucking  _ four, _ killed themselves… all kinds of soldiers get themselves into trauma, y’know?” Sam said, voice breaking.

Scott winced in sympathy, but he didn’t interrupt. He knew Sam had to let this out.

“Those RAFT soldiers were all… they’d all been in service at least ten, fifteen years—they don’t send new recruits out to those places, y’know? How much shit you think they’d been through, and how many—how many years d’you think they struggled to survive, how many years they fought and hung on, and then, all at once…”

Scott closed his eyes. He’d never experienced anything like that, but he could try to empathize.

“There was a guy in my unit who swallowed a bullet,” Sam said suddenly. “I knew him pretty well, but no one was closer with him than Riley. Watching him die—that fucked both of us up, y’know?”

Scott nodded, but he  _ didn’t _ know. He couldn’t  _ possibly  _ know what that was like,  _ fuck. _

“So—so this woman, doing shit like this? That’s—that’s not something I can ever fucking forgive. And—and I know, I know that Steve’s from the 40s, and PTSD wasn’t, like, a recognized  _ thing _ back then, but still… he’s been in this century for a  _ while, _ and he has  _ me _ for a friend, and—and— and it’s not even a matter of recognizing mental illness, it’s just having some goddamn empathy! So why—why the hell does he think it’s okay for her to do this? Why is this something we’re supposed to be cool with?”

Scott didn’t have an answer. “I—I don’t know, man,” he said quietly. “I don’t think we  _ can _ be.”

“Yeah. I—I thought Steve was different, yeah? Didn’t think he’d be the kind to destroy an airport without due cause. Didn’t think he’d leave a man behind in Siberia—that’s one of the  _ first fucking things they teach you, _ you  _ never _ leave a man behind,  _ fuck _ —and then, with the Accords, I mean—I trusted him about the Accords, just because he’s been in this game longer… but now…”

Scott nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I get you. Like—uh, well, I didn’t know St—Rogers,” he corrected, “before all this went down, but, y’know, I didn’t think Captain America would leave a friend behind for dead.”

“Yeah, that,” Sam agreed. “And he lied—well, I guess he didn’t  _ lie, _ exactly, but he was, ah… deliberately misleading, about the circumstances before Leipzig.”

“Like, how?”

“Well, T’Challa told me there was actually a deal on the table before Barnes broke out of the prison in Berlin,” Sam said. “Stark had negotiated for all the charges from Bucharest to be wiped clean in exchange for our signatures on the Accords. You know, a show of accountability.”

“Wait— _ all charges?” _

“Yup. I don’t have a clue how he swung that one.”

“Yeah, me neither.  _ Shit.” _

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Sam said wryly. “And then… we got a hold of Barnes. We could have called Stark, but Steve said he didn’t know whether the Accords would let him help. I don’t know, I thought there was a clause in there, maybe, that would prohibit him from taking action without convening some huge-ass U.N. panel but… I don’t think so, now. Anyway, he made it sound like Stark was out to get us and send us all to prison or some shit. I bought the lie, dumbass that I am.” Sam quirked an eyebrow. “And then I gave him your number. What’d he tell you?”

Scott snorted. “Told me the world was ending because of some Super Soldier threat and that Stark was in conspiracy with Secretary Ross to eliminate… something about  _ taking a country in one day and you’d never see them coming.” _

“Ah. That. Yeah, that… wasn’t what happened.”

“No shit.”

“Although I wouldn’t put it past Ross. He was one bastard of a general.”

“Yeah. I always thought he looked sleazy when he was on TV.” Scott frowned, a thought occurring to him. “But you were saying about the Accords… did you read them?” 

“No,” Sam admitted. “Though I really regret that now. See, we only found out about the Accords three days before they were signed—how that happened is beyond me; U.N. documents are public record, and this thing has been in the works for two years now; we must have lost track of the news while we were looking for Bucky. And I know my limits. I’m not an academics guy, I’m a fighter. There was no way I could parse that thousand-page legal text in three days and get a good understanding. I was just bouncing questions off Rhodes to get a feel for the issues I was most concerned about.”

“Like what?”

“Like—I was worried that as soon as people start seeing supers as some kind of threat, the Accords would be used to lock us up. Because, look—as much as I have some trouble with Cap’s ideology that ‘we can’t always save everyone,’ he’s… kind of  _ right, _ pragmatically. We do our best and we try our hardest, but the reality is: on this job, there  _ will _ be people who slip through the cracks. So what if the next time we can’t save someone, or someone gets hurt when we try to stop something bad from happening, the world calls it murder and throws us in jail? I mean, technically they could do that now, but…”

“But having a separate document to back that up is an entirely different thing,” Scott finished. “Yeah, I hear that.” 

“Plus, you got the problem where someone like Ross can take control of the whole system. I mean, ostensibly, he can’t, because the U.N. is designed to create a balance between nations, but…”

“Politics,” Scott said. “You never really know.”

“Yeah. What if he strongarms some smaller countries into bending to his will? What if he exchanges control of the Avengers for some other political concession? There’s a reason bureaucracy is such a shitshow, and despite what the letter or the spirit of the law says, there’s always the possibility that the higher-ups aren’t always doing the right thing.”

“I was worried about that too,” Scott said, contemplating. “I mean, I don’t know all that much about the U.N., and I feel like I’d much rather the U.N. have authority over the Avengers than any one government, but… there’s the possibility of corruption, no matter where you go.”

“Yeah. And then there was the whole system of imprisonment, which is a whole other Pandora’s box. I mean, the U.N. pretty much ceded the right to decide what the criminal justice system for supers looks like to the individual countries, which worries me. Because I trust, like  _ Canada _ and  _ Switzerland _ to do right by this, but… you know, if shock collars and straight-jackets are the way the  _ U.S. _ is leaning, I’d hate to see what some other countries come up with. Now, I don’t know if there was any… any  _ better _ way they could’ve contained Wanda; but you gotta admit, that’s a slippery slope.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Scott agreed. “I can see that happening: now that people see Wanda Maximoff being contained with those things, it makes it commonplace for other Enhanced people to be contained like that too. And then…”

“Then we have a bigger problem. And that could get messy, you know, with registration acts. I asked Rhodes about it, and he said there wasn’t any registration act in the U.N. charter, because the Sokovia Accords only deal with the Avengers and not the Enhanced population in general—hence, why we have to  _ sign _ the thing—but some individual countries want to set something like that up. He said they haven’t yet hammered out what kind of international laws protect Enhanced people yet, but that he’s worried about that too.”

There was a brief silence as they both took in what they’d just said—well, really, what Sam had mostly just said.

“Damn,” Scott said lowly. “You’ve really been thinking about this.”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered. “Gotta pass the time somehow. You know, not worrying about my family.”

Scott winced and tried to change the subject. “Well, you definitely thought this through more than me. I just kind of… packed up and left my family.”

Sam looked at him knowingly. “Don’t do that to yourself, Short Stack,” he said gently. “It won’t help you.”

Scott slowly nodded. “Okay. But—but I still think you made some good points.”

“Too bad I didn’t read the damn thing,” Sam snorted. “Then I could know whether any of that was legit or just me talking out of my ass.”

Scott furrowed his eyebrows.

A thought occurred to him.

“Well, why don’t we?”

Sam frowned. “Huh?”

“Why don’t we read it? I mean, I know jack-shit about law,” Scott said honestly, “but so do you, Falcon Punch! We can help each other out, man, like I forced my roommate in uni to help me get through all my assigned readings!”

Sam nodded, slowly at first, then more confidently. “Yeah… yeah. I think you’re right. If we’re here, we’re here, and ain’t nothing we can do about it. But we may as well know why.”

Scott agreed.

If he was going to lose Cassie, then he wanted to know what he’d given up all the light in his life for.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, how do you think we’re supposed to do this?”

“You knock, dumbass.”

“There’s no way you just  _ knock on the door! _ That’s a  _ king’s _ office, you can’t just,  _ knock, _ and be all like,  _ hey man, what’s up, can you hit me up with some international laws?” _ Scott rambled.

Sam frowned. “You’ve been spending too much time with Luis.”

Scott considered, looking up. “Yeah, probably.”

_ “ _ The King will see you now,” a loud young woman’s voice suddenly declared behind them.

Scott jumped up three feet in the air, and Sam almost tripped over his own feet as he whirled around.

It was the Princess— _ Shuri, was her name? _ If Scott didn’t know better, he’d say she was amused by their reactions.

“He has been waiting for some time, and he has grown impatient with your dallying by the door,” she said matter-of-factly, gesturing for them to follow her. They did so with trepidation. “He is a king, you know. He has other things to attend to.”

“Sorry, er… your Majesty… Highness?” 

The princess turned to Scott and seemed to consider him for a second; perhaps making a judgment. “Shuri will do,” she said finally. “Although,  _ your Highness _  is suitable if you ever require a favor from me.”

Sam frowned. “Besides… living in your palace? And eating your food? And having access to your tech?”

Slowly, Shuri grinned. “Oh, I like this one! So much less entitlement.” She gestured to the  _ really-fucking-scary guards, _ who, in perfect formation, opened the doors to the king’s… throne room? Corner office?

“Ah, Mr. Lang, Sergeant Wilson,” T’Challa said, somewhat tiredly from the corner of the room. “I hear that you would like to pick up some… rather dense reading material?”

Scott thought it was wisest not to ask how they knew what Sam and he were discussing in their private rooms. “Er… yeah.”

_ Jesus fuck, how do you talk to a king? _

But T’Challa smiled and simply opened a drawer and retrieved two thick stacks of paper. He carried them over, one in each hand, and pressed them into Sam and Scott’s chests.

“It is about time.”

 

* * *

 

(Scott dropped the stack of roughly a hundred papers as he exited the  _ King of Wakanda’s _ throne room.)

(Scott saw his life flash before his eyes and proceeded to self-implode in internal mortification.)

(Sam doubled over laughing like a maniac and almost dropped his own copy too.)

(Shuri was recording with the beads on her wrist, muttering something about memes to one of the guards.)

  
  


* * *

 

_ “The question remains: are the Sokovia Accords an attempt to hold the Avengers accountable, or an attempt to control them and use them as a private army for the corrupt officials of one country, because that’s sure what it seems like…” _

_ “Unfortunately, it has come to our attention that our colleagues over at RPP News are unfamiliar with the very concept of the United Nations…” _

_ “Who is Spider-Man? Our superhuman correspondent investigates…”  _

_ “Interpol releases warrants for the arrests of the Rogue Avengers…”  _

_ “Captain America, the symbol of the United States Army, now responsible for the deaths of many soldiers just like him, not to mention countless civilians…” _

_ “Captain America, the symbol of the United States Army, being unfairly accused of murder and manslaughter, all while Tony Stark refuses to answer for his own actions…”  _

_ “Comedians taking a stand: Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert’s joint scathing monologue and John Oliver’s critical Last Week Tonight feature both trending this morning…” _

_ “Recipients of September Foundation grants at MIT, Harvard, Caltech, and several other universities and high schools start viral hashtag #StudentsforStark…”  _

_ “How will five different countries demanding extradition for the Rogues play out? Here to comment…”  _

_ “Romanian news channel anchors openly cussing Steve Rogers and the American government on their broadcast…”  _

_ “People around the world asking: how on earth did we get here?” _

 

* * *

 

 

_ Avengers Compound, East Wing. _

__

“Status on universities?”

“NYU and MIT remain the largest Team Iron Man strongholds, at 97 and 99 percent, followed close behind by Columbia, CalTech, and most of the UCs.”

“Good. Who do we target for posters?”

“There’s a graphic design major at NYU who made a best-selling Iron Man/War Machine T-shirt about a year ago — I think Tony bought one, actually — and he’s posted with #TeamStark, #StudentsforStark, #TeamIronMan, and #StarkforPresident in the past three days. Still, I think our best bet is MIT, there’s this graphic design/animation team that made a music video set to Black Sabbath’s Iron Man. It’s pretty good, actually.”

“Get them both.”

“Got it.”

“Check on popular terminology.”

Catherine sighed. _ “‘ExVengers’ _ is still one of the top trending terms, sadly enough.”

Pepper’s eyes narrowed. “You have  _ got _ to push that out. A name like  _ ‘ExVengers’ _ minimizes the problem, makes it sound like the Avengers are some kind of — tabloid breakup scandal. We need—”

“—I know, I  _ know, _ Pepper,” said Catherine exasperatedly.  _ “‘Rogue Avengers’ _ as the official term, because  _ ‘Rogue’ _ has phonetic similarities with  _ ‘Rogers’, _ so he’ll be tied to the others in the public eye, making it difficult for him to distance himself from the problem,” she recited,  _ “‘Team Cap’ _ as the common colloquial term to make the issue divisive, and when things are divisive…”

“…things become mainstream. People will have opinions,” Pepper finished. “People will need to choose a side. We  _ need _ people to  _ have _ to choose a side. If it looks like  _ everyone _ has suddenly turned on Rogers, people will become skeptical of what the Big Bad Government did to make Captain America a criminal. If we keep it so that there are a few at the fringes who still support him, it becomes a controversy, a matter of ethics;  _ then, _ people start paying attention to the dead bodies. Which means we need them labeled as  _ ‘Team Cap,’  _ not the  _ ‘ExVengers.’” _

Catherine sighed. “I’m  _ trying, _ Pepper, I really am, but we’re only two weeks out! It’s not easy to push media outlets to choose the terms we use in the middle of this _ goddamned shitshorm.” _

Pepper deflated. “Yeah… I know. I’m sorry.”

Catherine ran a hand over her face. “Don’t be. These past few weeks haven’t been easy on any of us, least of all you.” She sent a commiserating smile. “You should take a nap. You’ve got a few hours before you’re due at the Tower, and I know you haven’t slept in —”

_ Boom. _

An electric blue pulse reverberated through the room.

Pepper jumped back.

Catherine flew into a fight stance. 

The lights flickered.

Died.

 

 

 

 

Pepper gasped.

"FRIDAY?"

 

 

 

There was no response.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I got you all excited about JARVIS but it's a few chapters before we see him again, sorry :(
> 
> One reason I was delayed was that I just posted the final version of my childhood-backstory fic, Stark Manor. It's the second fic in this series and its Long (TM). It wasn't supposed to be but it just kinda happened ya know? anyway im pretty proud of the final version so check it out!!   
> [also if you read it before it's been updated a lot. also the things that happen there are relevant to this fic]
> 
> Some things:  
> \- Clint gets redeemed! It was actually a pretty close poll so I went and like tallied them all up, and by a hair, Clint gets redeemed.  
> \- I kinda love Scott (his motivation of being there for his daughter is so sweet!) and i think like the CW writers initially had him on team IM so they kinda did him dirty by switching him?? so yeah I 100% redeem Scott in this one i love him okay it's a story about a father being there for his daughter and it's Nice. also bay area represent :)  
> \- I also kinda love Sam because 1) as a WOC representation is important to me, 2) it's cool that he's a therapist, adding to the mcu giving representation to mental illness which is Good, and 3) he's just a badass  
> \- if it's not clear sam gets redeemed too  
> \- also i blame sam's family being in danger on a commenter who pointed out he has family and i was like "oooh plot idea" so yeah poor sam  
> \- i play devil's advocate on this one and try to see things from a team cap perspective. while i am decidedly on the side of the accords, there are actually some ways legislation can get screwy, especially in uncharted territory like enhanced humans. so there will be some problems with the accords, bc i don't personally think legislation is ever perfect like we'd hope, so... yeah. anyway, that convo with sam and scott is basically me voicing potential issues with the accords/how they might be implemented. they raise some legitimate questions... but I still definitely think the Accords are right
> 
> \- part of why i was delayed was finals, but I did well and im very happy now so yay
> 
>  
> 
> i hesitate to make any promises about updating more because ive broken all my previous promises (like a pro) but ill try??
> 
> i always feel like im forgetting something in the notes but like whatever i can edit things. okay bye
> 
> its 3am and im not going to like school tomorrow
> 
> next chapter: what the hell was what explosion thing
> 
> thank you so much for your comments and kudos and bookmarks!! i promise i read every one and they make my friggin day alrite ?? like i love you guys
> 
> look at me, being coherent at three in the morning
> 
> im going to edit this tomorrow like a lot what the heck is this


	6. Howard's War, Howard's Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! I wanted to post within a week, and then I... didn't
> 
> So this one draws on heavily from the backstory fic (second on this series) because Howard makes a cameo here. You don't have to have read that to get what's going on, because it's fairly self-explanatory: Howard's a dick -- but, it is kinda useful to know the context.
> 
> What happened when the explosion thingy went off? Read to find out!
> 
> also this fic is going way too slow I'm kinda Mad

 

 

_5:14 A.M., May 15, 2016. 15 days after Siberia._

_Avengers Compound, East Wing._

 

"FRIDAY?" Pepper gasped desperately.

There was no response.

“Pepper! The power’s out!” Catherine barked in the darkness from beside her, and Pepper started.

“Why the hell— it’s an _arc reactor,_ the power doesn’t just _go out!”_

“I don’t have my phone on me! Get yours, we need a light. This could be an attack, come on!”

Pepper hastily obliged, fumbling her way towards her purse and groping for her phone. Her fingers closed around it and she whipped it out —

“It won’t turn on,” she said, dumbfounded.

 _“What?”_ Catherine hissed. “What do you mean, it won’t turn on? Is it out of battery or something?”

Pepper frowned. “No, it was at full battery an hour ago.”

“So what happened? Is this… an EMP, maybe?”

Pepper shook her head, even though she knew Catherine couldn’t see her. “No, Tony’s tech is EMP-resistant.”

“Of course it is.” Catherine’s head darted up. “Pepper — the Bartons.”

“Shit!”

“We need to get somewhere with a window — wait, FRIDAY?”

There was no answer.

_That’s not good._

“Come on, Pepper,” came Catherine’s anxious voice. “We have to move, come on!”

Pepper followed the sound of Catherine’s light footfalls through the pitch-black corridors _(wasn’t there supposed to be emergency lighting?)_ to East Wing Conference 320, which was at the edge of the property. She took a moment to silently thank Tony for his fondness for glass paneling as early morning sunlight illuminated the room through the single transparent wall.

“FRIDAY?” she tried again. No answer.

Catherine busied herself laying out her array of weapons on the conference room table. Pepper did a double take — two handguns, a knife and a dagger, throwing stars, and _was that pepper spray?_

“How the hell do you fit that in your purse?”

Catherine shrugged, pulling a small blade out of the heel of her boot. “I’m ergonomic.” Suddenly, her eyes widened. “Pepper,” she hissed again. “Someone’s outside.”

Pepper listened, and — yes, footsteps, she could hear them now, _shit._

Catherine raised her gun. _Take one,_ she mouthed to Pepper.

Pepper didn’t know how to shoot a gun, and she wasn’t quite ready to stab someone this early in the morning… she opted for the pepper spray. _Her weapon of choice,_ as Tony would remind her.

The footsteps grew louder. Pepper heart thumped in her chest. Catherine stepped closer to the door.

“Ms. Potts?” came the familiar, polite voice of JAR— Vision. “Ms. Potts, are you there?”

Pepper let out a sigh of relief. “Yes — yes, Vision, thank god,” she said, opening the door.

Vision, accompanied by four harried-looking Bartons, still in their pajamas, stood in the darkened doorway. “We heard you walking and followed the sound,” he said by way of explanation. “Ms. Potts — I can’t hear FRIDAY,” he said with concern.

“What do you mean —”

“Something happened to her.”

Pepper’s blood ran cold. “Could it… could it have been Romanoff?”

Catherine shook her head behind her. “No. Romanoff isn’t that good a hacker. All of SHIELD’s tech department could only get through Tony’s defenses before he became Iron Man and militarized everything; they stopped being able to hack him around 2009, 2010. Romanoff, on her own? Doesn’t stand a chance.”

Pepper nodded thoughtfully, then motioned the five of them inside. Just as they took seats around the table, Baby Nate in Laura’s arms, two more sets or hurried feet sounded down the corridor. Catherine darted out, gun at the ready. After a moment, she opened the door to reveal a very haggard Hank Pym and a very put-together Hope van Dyne. Behind them, an aggrieved Jim Rhodes in a wheelchair.

“What the fuck just happened?” asked Pym, out of breath. Van Dyne shot Pym a withering look, presumably annoyed at his endless determination to destroy any progress she made building relations between the Pym brand and the Stark camp.

Pym had the sense to look vaguely contrite.

_(Yes, van Dyne and Pym stayed the night. Unsurprisingly, they’d gotten almost nowhere in their talks the day before, between Pepper’s busy schedule and Pym’s obstinacy. Pepper had begrudgingly allowed them to take guest rooms next to the Bartons (though they paid for their food and board, of course) because despite it all, she felt herself believing in Hope van Dyne. She had half a mind to boot Pym back to San Francisco where he belonged, but she was choosing her battles. And Howard Stark’s old pissing buddy was not a person she wanted to lose precious hours of sleep over.)_

“Power’s shot,” piped up Laura Barton.

“Which makes no sense.” Pepper shook her head. “There are fail-safes for that. _Many._ And FRIDAY’s offline, my phone isn’t working, the emergency lights aren’t coming on… something’s really wrong here.”

Suddenly, Pepper’s phone buzzed.

“Thought you said your phone was dead,” said Catherine suspiciously.

Pepper furrowed her eyebrows. “It was,” she muttered.

She raised her phone, and to her surprise, the Caller I.D. showed as _F.R.I.D.A.Y._

She answered and pressed the speakerphone.

“Erm — FRIDAY?” she asked.

“Boss-Lady,” FRIDAY replied, obviously relieved. “I thought I might not get through.”

Pepper and the rest of the group exchanged a look. “FRI, what’s going on?”

“Boss needs you.”

_Why—_

_Tony._

Tony was _downstairs._

Downstairs… where the blast came from.

“Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. “Catherine, get the med kit! He’s downstairs, in the lab, or at basement-two bedroom! Come on —”

“Boss-Lady,” FRIDAY cut her off, “it would be better if you went alone.”

Pepper frowned. “Um… FRIDAY? What… what do you mean?”

“Boss-Lady,” FRIDAY said, employing her own version of Pepper’s Voice. “Trust me.”

“Er, okay. Going downstairs.”

Catherine looked uncertain. “Pepper, are you sure that’s—”

“Ms. Leung, I must insist. It is a matter of great importance.”

Catherine still didn’t look convinced, so Pepper sent her a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be fine, Catherine. Look!” She gestured to her hand. “I’ve even got my pepper spray.”

Catherine smirked at that, and Pepper knew why.

_It’s such a Tony thing to say._

 

* * *

 

_There’s a weight in his chest._

_It’s heavy, heavy, and it hurts._

_It burns and freezes his heart in turns, cold with the ice of metal, and fiery with the intensity of a burning star._

_Eight gigajoules a second — he’s improved — and he feels every one of them._

_Tony is thirty-seven and he feels a piece of his third rib get pulled from his chest. He can count them now, he can count them just by feeling._

_They burn._

_Yinsen looks down at him, his glasses and his surgical mask obscuring his face. Tony’s tears of pain blur his vision, but the image of Yinsen remains in sharp focus._

_“I saved your life,” Yinsen says, a bullet would blossoming at his lower shoulder, “at the expense of my own. Tell me, Stark, what was it all for?”_

_Tony struggles to hold on to consciousness, blinking, blinking, fading._

_The fire in his chest lingers._

 

_It’s quiet._

 

_It’s buzzing._

_It’s like — it’s a high noise, a soft, ringing warble, like a long, agonized wail carried from some miles in the distance._

_His chest hurts more._

Clang _._

_A blast of pain._

Clang.

_His sternum lodges free and slams against his lung. His breath collapses. His throat sticks. His ribs are gone._

Clang.

_It sounds like he’s pounding iron in a forge. Metal against metal._

_He’s not thinking straight._

Clang.

_He feels the lighting bolts of fear he’d come to associate with the knowledge that something in him is irreparably broken._

_He’s scared._

Clang.

_He wants to scream, like all the animal cries and howls he’d let loose in that cave all those years ago._

_But there’s no air and no chest to scream from._

_It hurts._

_He’s scared._

Clang.

_Steve Rogers raises his shield._

_Tony is going to die._

Clang.

 

_He doesn’t die._

_And yet, it feels like he does._

 

_And then he’s alone._

_He hates his own mind. He hates the incessant, unending train of thought in his genius mind, the one that had never quieted in all the years of his life he could remember. He hates that he’s in his last moments, and he can’t even find peace in his own head._

_He wants to cry. He tries sobbing, but OH-GOD-NO-THAT-HURTS._

_It’s like when he was a kid and Howard had shoved the glass from his broken bottle of whiskey into his stomach, carved gruesome lines into his chest with long shards, knocked his ribs until they shattered and turned him over and lined his back with the cracks of a belt and he wanted to sob but it hurt, it hurts, IT HURTS—_

 

_So he contents himself with silent tears._

_He mourns a life he could have lived._

_He mourns a friend he never had._

_He mourns the love he’d only just found._

Yinsen, I’m sorry, _he thinks, and it isn’t enough._

 

_It’s quiet._

_He wonders what will do him in, the quiet or the cold._

_Turns out, they’re one and the same._

 

_It’s cold. It’s ice._

_It grips him at the throat._

_His arc fails. His heart fails._

_But he didn’t fail. Not this time._

_He’s ready to die. Ready to die, above his home, suspended in starlight, just before the free fall._

_Straight and true, the nuke flies._

_Tony closes his eyes._

_He’s ready to die._

 

_He plummets_

_There’s ringing in his ears_

_Something explodes_

_It’s silence_

_He feels_

_himself_

_die_

 

_—There were warships in the sky,_

_And it’s not over._

_They’re coming._

_And Tony doesn’t get to die._

 

_The Hulk roars and he’s back in the bunker._

_Siberia._

_And Howard Stark is waiting for him._

 

_“The sky’s on fire,” Howard says blandly._

_Tony is lying on his back, blood in his lungs and smeared across his chest._

_Howard’s eyes are dark, yet empty; devoid of love and anger alike, devoid of pain. There is a large smear of crimson blood smudged and streaked across his forehead, and it makes Tony sick._

_He turns his head to face the outside._

_As always, Howard’s right._

_Explosions ring across the sky. A storm of red and orange reigns above the earth, where eruptions of fiery debris and warships pound their place into the skyline._

_Miles away in the distance, a small fleck zooms down from the heavens. It’s so small, so fast, blink and you miss it._

_It falls into a city so far away._

_Tony can’t see the city, but he sees a small billow of smoke — hears a great, thundering crash, muffled._

_It’s gone._

_He remembers a lesson he’d learned at a young age, watching the hidden battles of the Cold War, seeing the destruction he’d wrought with his own hands, the missiles he’d built since the tender age of eight, the guns he’d built since he was even younger. The shots, the screams, the collapses — it’s all horrible to listen to. It’s hell on earth… but it’s nothing compared to the silence that follows. That silence, he knows, is the sound of true horror; the real object of nightmares and shattered psyches._

_Then, silence gives way to Siberian wind, carrying on as if nothing happened at all._

_“They always think they can see it coming,” says Howard conversationally._

_He squats down by Steve’s discarded shield, across from Tony, who is lying exposed with his mutilated chest bared to the sky._

_“Howard —”_

_“The bombs. They always think they’ll be able to see it coming.”_

_There’s something lingering, something haunted in Howard’s eyes. Tony wishes he didn’t know that look so well that he was able to recreate it in his mind’s eye almost twenty-five years after his father’s death._

_Tony wonders, not for the first time, at the names of the demons who followed Howard Stark back from war._

_“They think there’ll be a falling noise, a rush of air, and that sound —” Howard whistles, a high note dropping lower in tone. “Then, they think they’ll hear the crash. They think they’ll have time. A few minutes, a few seconds. A few years… to take cover. To save themselves. But they don’t.” Howard looks down at the ground and shakes his head with a bitter, ironic smile — the one that frays at the edges to reveal a glimpse of1x his hidden instability. “They never do.”_

_Tony’s chest is pure agony, a shrieking mess of painful, aching, screaming flesh and pieces of bones, all howling that they’re in the wrong place and all twisted together and it’s all wrong._

_He grasps futilely at his chest; he gasps in pain. “Can — can you — help me?”_

_Howard’s lifeless expression freezes, turns cold. He snorts. “If you think I ever gave a damn, you’re buying into the bullshit SHIELD fed you like a naive little toddler waiting all night for the tooth fairy. Don’t you remember what I was really like?”_

_Tony feels a weak rush of something — maybe shame, maybe anger — in his gut, but he finds he’s far too tired for both._

_Instead, he just turns his head to the side again and feels a fresh wave of misery well up inside him._

_He isn’t close to the war, or whatever it is, but he can tell it’s happening. He sees the evidence of the devastation in the billows of smoke, rising sky-high above the red acid horizon._

_“Tick-tock, Anthony,” Howard mocks. “You’re out of time.”_

_A lingering taste of dust and blood._

_“People never see the bomb coming, Anthony. The sound, the rush of air, the crash — it all happens at once.” Howard shook his head. “Too fast to run. Too fast to hide. Too fast to know it’s even happening. It’s just —” he makes a_ whoosh _sound with his mouth and a_ pop. _“Over.”_

_Tony closes his eyes._

_“Ah — you know that, Anthony,” Howard continues. “You know how this works. I made sure of that. So why —” he kicks the shield, “— did you condemn the world to die —” he slams his foot into the shield, the arm, the wall, “— for your petty-ass issues?”_

_Tony flinches on the ground, and distantly wonders why._

_(All his ribs are broken already, how much more damage can Howard really do?)_

_Howard turns back to him, familiar rageful fire in his eyes — the blazing glare of an angry alcoholic._

_(Probably a lot, if he’s dedicated.)_

_“I didn’t kill you,” Tony blurts. “I didn’t kill you. Barnes — HYDRA — whatever. But I — whatever I said that night — it didn’t kill you.”_

_Howard chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head. “That must bring you such comfort. To know that I was murdered.”_

_Tony winces. “I didn’t mean —”_

_“You meant what you meant.”_

_A second of churning guilt, but Tony remembers Harley’s smile and his hurt turns to fuming rage. “Seems a fitting end for you, doesn’t it?” he bites bitterly. “Beaten to death by someone you loved.”_

_Howard chuckled darkly. “You loved me,” he says — not kindly, but coldly, ironically. “You never did stop loving me.”_

_“It’s fucked up, isn’t it?” Tony huffs resentfully. “How I — how you — I loved you_ so damn much, _Howard. So_ fucking much. _And you took your pleasure in beating me half to death, even when my head was barely at your knees… You know how much you fucked me up?”_

_“You were already fucked up,” Howard shrugs._

_“That’s not FUCKING TRUE!”_

_Howard startles, but mildly, blinking. “Really?” he scoffs. “Maybe Romanoff was right. Maybe your ego has really gotten away from you this time. Don’t you remember how long you’ve been a killer?”_

_At that, Tony_ growls. _“You — you little — I was FIVE YEARS OLD!” Tony is breathing hard now, either rage or pain blackening the corners of his vision. “I was FIVE YEARS OLD when you put a pistol in my hand and told me to make it better! My finger couldn’t reach the FUCKING TRIGGER, and I learned to shoot, I learned to kill, I was a mass murderer! I was EIGHT when I built the missiles, the bombs! I was a CHILD when you beat me until I SCREAMED and SOBBED and fucking BEGGED FOR DEATH! I was SIX YEARS OLD when Obie gave me a glass of whiskey to take the pain away, and I took it, and it was YOUR FUCKING FAULT! Don’t you DARE tell me I’m the monster, you ASSHOLE!” Tony screams, voice breaking as his weak, torn lungs make their limits known, painfully; but the pain lacing his chest only compounds the fury in his heart. Tony seethes. “You — you, of all people — have no fucking right,” he hisses._

_Howard doesn’t respond — simply raises an eyebrow. Insufferable as always. “You know, I’m not actually saying any of this shit,” he says mildly. “It’s all you. It’s your own conscience. I’m in your head.”_

_“Fuck you!”_

_“You know that being a kid doesn’t make you any less to blame for what you did, Anthony. It doesn’t matter, it’s never mattered. They’re all still dead. You know this.”_

_“Go — go fuck yourself.”_

_“You’ve never been innocent, Anthony — I mean, can you even remember a time when you weren’t a murderer?”_

_Tony whimpers. “I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU—”_

_“Hating the voices in your head, Anthony?” Howard whistles lowly. “Soon enough, you’ll be senile and insane, just like your old man.”_

_“Go to hell, Howard!”_

_“Crying yourself to sleep, like your old man… sleeping with a gun in your hand, like your old man…” he sing-songs. “Spilling innocent blood in the name of heroism, like your old man… soon, you’ll be beating your child, ‘til he’s crazy too, just like your old man…”_

_At that, Tony flares. “Don’t you dare—” he grits out, “—even think—about Harley Keener—in front—of me—again.”_

_Howard chuckles. “You think you’ll be a good dad, huh?”_

_“I’ll be better than you,” Tony snarls._

_Howard looks amused, and Tony chokes and lets his head fall backward onto the cold bunker floor._

_“Why the hell did I ever love you, huh?” he breathes in spite, staring distantly at the concrete ceiling. “Why the hell — why did I love Obie, or care about Steve fucking Rogers? Why do I always love the people who wouldn’t hesitate to watch me — watch me burn? Who would — who would leave me to die — here—”_

_And Howard just sits there, waiting, not offering any response._

 

_There’s still blood on Howard’s head, Tony remembers, and Tony wonders whether he can feel it._

_He hopes that he does._

 

_(No, he doesn’t.)_

_(He’s never wished his father pain.)_

_(But why, why does he still love Howard?)_

 

_It’s silent for a long while before Tony speaks again._

_“They’re coming,” he says finally. “The Chitauri, or whoever else. Whatever faceless army comes next.”_

_Howard closes his eyes. “Army’s never faceless.”_

_Tony shrugs as much as he can from where he’s lying. “They’re faceless to us.”_

_“We’re all faceless to someone,” Howard snaps. And Tony remembers the nights of Howard’s guilt and nightmares and alcohol and violence over the Manhattan Project. He supposes it’s a sore point for his old man._

_Tony cocks his head, or rather, rolls it awkwardly on the ground. “But you and me… we aren’t faceless to anyone.”_

_“No,” Howard agrees, gazing out at the sky. “Not anymore.”_

_“They must know me,” Tony whispers. “They have to know the man who killed their millions. They know — they know about Earth, and if they know about Earth… they must know about me.”_

_“Then,” Howard says grimly, “pray to God that when they come, it’s not because of you.”_

_Tony cracks a brittle smile. “I’ve never been that lucky.”_

_“...I suppose you haven’t,” Howard concedes quietly. “But then again, neither have I.”_

_Tony closes his eyes, and he thinks perhaps that he falls asleep there, for a moment, tear frozen on his cheek._

 

_But then, moments later, he is awake again._

_Howard breaks the silence with a hum. “Remember Dolokhov?” he inquires._

_Tony blinks. “Ah… which one?”_

_“The one who sold to Tupitsyn’s forces.”_

_Tony thinks back. Tupitsyn… oh, Yurchik Dolokhov._

_Soviet arms dealer, circa 1977. Not bad with bombs._

_Got shot in the head._

_(Or maybe he shot himself in the head.)_

_“Oh. Yeah, him,” Tony says weakly._

_“He had a saying, you know. ‘There are some enemies you can’t defeat,’ he’d say. ‘They just keep coming back, stronger every time, until you’re defeated. All you can do is buy yourself time.’”_

_Tony hesitates, then deflects. “Alright, so not a light-hearted guy, but I guess that’s in the job description.”_

_Howard scowls, but puts aside his aggravation in favor of the point he’s trying to make. “See — he thought the West was that unending battle._ ‘Infinity war,’ _he called it.”_

_Tony frowns. “Infinity war?”_

_Howard waves a hand. “Was probably ‘endless war’ or something, but it got lost in translation, I suppose. The point stands: some enemies can never be fully defeated. Only kept at bay.”_

_Tony chuckles. “America, undefeatable? Really?”_

_“America is very defeatable, you and I both know that,” Howard says dismissively. “Empires fall every day. But that,” he points outside to the raging, fiery battle — the apocalypse, miles away — “that is endless. That, right there, is the enemy that will never die. Or if it does, someone worse will take its place.”_

_Loki, the Chitauri, they could have taken Earth. They could have. And if they can’t, someone else can._

_There is something, someone out there more powerful; there is a battle coming. Tony can feel it._

 

_“Infinity war,” Tony breathes._

 

_Howard is silent, breathing in the cold._

 

_Tony watches the fire rage on the horizon for what could have been minutes, hours, or days. He doesn’t know. Time passes, somehow._

_Tony feels nothing but dread._

_He drifts out once more._

 

_The battle quiets._

_The orange settles on the horizon. It is there to stay._

 

_“You’re much more helpful in my head than you ever were alive,” Tony says finally._

_“And much less violent, too,” Howard agrees. “You don’t remember me as I was. You… you always thought the best of me.”_

_Tony shakes his head, chuckling mirthlessly. “Call it childhood innocence, naivety,” he mumbles. “Whatever little I had in me that you didn’t kill with prejudice, I wasted believing in you.”_

_Howard grimaces. “Well, that’s the thing, Tony,” he says, more gently than he ever had in life._

_Tony looks over at Howard, who’s staring down at him with an unreadable expression._

_“You never did stop believing in me.”_

_Tony blinks tears out of his eyes and tries to convince himself Howard’s not right._

_“Come with me,” Howard says suddenly — not encouragingly, like a parent’s request; but commanding, like an order._

_Tony finds, surprisingly, that he is able to stand._

_He follows._

_He takes Howard’s hand, and the world swirls around him, and he is far, far away._

 

_It’s colder, is the first thing he registers._

_There is no light here, he realizes. Not anymore. There is the cold blue pallor of spaceships’ light from above darkly illuminated across midnight rubble; lightless, shattered ruins of cities._

_The blue hue reflects across rocks splattered in crimson blood as midnight black. Lying on the rubble, there are the broken bodies of people he doesn’t know—_

_—and people he does._

_Pepper — she is wearing a white shirt, startlingly blue against the black of the ground, against the black blood stains at her stomach and mouth. The light misses her lower half, so Tony doesn’t notice at first how — how her leg is severed, twisted painfully off. He realizes now how her mouth is hanging open means her lips must have been parted in a scream._

_His eyes fall to a broken shard of slate grey metal, and his eyes drift up in horror._

_Rhodey — the War Machine armor is broken around him — one eye is gone, a metal plate has impaled his neck, so deep his head has lolled backwards farther than it could have if his head were still totally fixed on his shoulders. The armor is twisted near the bottom — cracked, torn to pieces — and Tony knows he failed to protect James Rhodes._

_Happy is only a few feet away from him. His face — oh, god — his face is burned half off, head a smoldering mass of flesh and blood and emptiness — his body a mangled mess — he must have caught the firebombs, the firebombs — his arms, his neck, charred to the bone — Tony’s seen enough dead by firebombs to know—_

_Harley, little Harley, — thirteen-year-old Harley — is on top of a pile of rubble. His shock of sandy hair is blackened by blood, and it isn’t where isn’t supposed to be because neck twisted at odd angles, bone of forearm poking through the skin, bony chest mutilated and carved out; his little body lies there, prone, unseeing eyes staring blankly at the sky — as if searching for some kind of savior — too late to save._

_And Tony’s gaze flickers, frantic, to the bodies around, around — so many more — so, so many more—_

_Tony collapses by Harley’s body, grasping desperately at his blackened hand, breath coming in shallow, panicked breaths. It feels too small and too big and Harley’s gone, and Harley’s hurt, and Tony presses a messy, half-sobbed kiss to Harley’s curls—_

_“It’s okay, kiddo, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, mumbles. “There, there. There, there. It’s okay. You’re okay.”_

_“He’s not.”_

_Howard’s voice comes from behind him; nonchalant, as-you-please, like he was just stating the weather._

_Tony sobs and gasps and grasps at his son’s broken body, cradles his little broken chest to his own broken heart, and he can feel where the spine pokes through the back of his skin._

_Howard’s footsteps echo in the cold, empty air. He comes closer behind him, and Tony is still sobbing._

_“Why do you think this happened?” Howard asks coldly, words creeping the back of Tony’s neck._

_Tony opens his mouth, grasping, whimpering — his lips contort into a sob that he buries in Harley’s hair._

_“Answer me, Anthony,” Howard demands, louder and sharper. Tony flinches._

_“I—I—”_

_“Yes. You. That’s why.”_

_“Oh, Harley… Rhodey, Pepper… Happy…”_

_“You eliminated the Earth’s only defense. You have all the experience with diplomacy and business in the fucking world, and you couldn’t get Captain America to sign a commonsense contract!”_

_“They — they wouldn’t have made—”_

_“They wouldn’t have made a difference? Are you shitting me?”_

_Tony swallows. “They — they wouldn’t have been enough.”_

_Howard scoffs. “So let me get this straight — you completely dismantled our only chance at survival, with no alternative, no backup in place — because it wasn’t good enough, so we shouldn’t have anything in place at all? Nothing at all, to protect them?”_

_Tony sobs and holds Harley closer._

_“What about Maximoff? She was crazy, but she was fucking useful! She’s powerful, she could have made a difference! You — you had a woman with fucking Infinity Stone-powered magic on your team, and you set her on glorified house arrest? Then let her become a wanted fugitive?”_

_“I—I tried—”_

_“Oh, you tried, did you? Did you give it your best effort, Tony darling?” Howard mocks. “What a fucking comfort that must be to your son. Look at him, he’s practically in pieces.”_

_At that, Tony blinks fast and turns his head around. “This is your grandson, you know?” he asked quietly, tremulously. “This is your fucking grandson. You show some fucking respect.”_

_Howard scoffed. “Respect… you could have respected him by valuing his life, instead of your anger at Barnes when you burnt your last bridge with the Rogues… all that’s left in defense of Earth is Vision, your one-year-old pseudo-child; Jim Rhodes, your best friend; and you. God, it really doesn’t pay to be your loved ones, does it? They always end up on the front lines.”_

_Tony blinks hard._

_Howard watches him mourn for a long time._

_“Fix this,” Howard says finally, quietly. “Fix it.”_

_“I thought I was hopeless,” Tony says bitterly. “I thought I’d already condemned everyone.”_

_Howard shakes his head. “It’s not over yet, you still have to fight.”_

_“I don’t wanna fight. I’m tired.”_

_“Don’t be a child.”_

_“I never was,” Tony snaps._

_Howard pauses. “You know I don’t believe in you, right?”_

_“You never have,” Tony says hesitantly, as if waiting for the trick question._

_Howard chuckles bitterly, kicking the ground. “See, that’s the thing. I don’t believe in anyone.” He looks down at Tony. “And yet I entrusted my legacy to you. My work, my secrets, my dreams and my fears… because I do believe in you. My greatest creation was always you, Tony — but ‘great’ does not mean ‘good’. I have yet to decide whether your greatness makes you good, or evil.”_

_Tony looks over his shoulder again._

_“You cannot fail me,” Howard continues. “I am the last person in this world you have any obligation to, and you have obligations to a lot of people. But what I ask of you is what will protect the ones you love. Failure means that this,” he gestures to the bodies, “becomes their reality. You know that I understand very little of goodness, or morality, or parenting, or even basic human decency, but this — this hell, this world of death and destruction — this, I understand. So this is my warning: you cannot fail me. No matter the cost.”_

_Tony closes his eyes. “Then I’ll fight.”_

_Howard smiles from behind him._

_“Be sure to win.”_

_And then Howard Stark is gone, with a crash of a metal arm._

_The blue, the black — it all fades away at once._

 

_Fire._

_Fire._

_He’s in the suit, thousands on feet above the earth._

_There’s fire everywhere — in the sky, on the ground, on the black ships hammering the horizon into a vision of destruction._

_The sky is streaked with red, painted with blood and echoes of bombs. The world is heavy with the weight of death, of annihilation, except this one spot, directly over where Tony hovers in his shimmering red suit._

_He looks up, and it’s a wormhole, swirling and so much wider and darker and terrifyingly, harrowingly empty; hollow — perhaps instead it’s a black hole, or a storm on the water closing in._

_They’ve passed the event horizon, Tony knows. It is too late._

_All that is left is for them to watch the world collapse in upon itself._

_Watch it burn._

_A glint of hard grey metal in the blinding orange fray streaks upward, machine gun fire zipping out ahead._

_Rhodey._

_The War Machine hurtles straight up into the sky, halting about fifty feet above Tony and turning his direction, faceplate looking far off above his head._

_“Tones!” crackles Rhodey’s voice, scratchy in his comm unit. “With me, go for the big one!”_

_The big one…_

_Slowly, Tony’s repulsors turns him around in midair._

_Hanging in the sky, like a large black splotch hovering on an orange canvas, like a hole in the fabric of light, is the mothership. Just as Tony remembered it — sleek, unforgiving, daunting dark machinery lining a body of power, a thousand feet long. It looks almost lethargic, apathetic, as it takes Earth’s fire stoically and unmoving, and it offhandedly shoots a decimating bomb once every few seconds. As if it can’t be bothered._

_A roar of repulsors above him, and Rhodey rears up—_

_He’s seized in midair by a Leviathan-like figure, large and glistening silver, formless and unseen—_

_“Tony!” Rhodey screams through his comms, and then his voice warps into a strangled cry._

_No, no, no—_

_—Snap!_

_The armor… breaks._

_Shatters, around Rhodey, as he still wears it._

_The world drops through Tony’s heart as Rhodey’s comms are filled with static. The sleek grey metal drips blood. The red arc dies._

_The being drops Rhodey, like he’s nothing, and his body falls limp, lifeless, to Earth._

_Tony’s chest is too tight — he can’t breathe — Rhodey—_

_The mothership lets loose a deafening cannon, a fierce crash that echoes across the land._

_And somehow… somehow, Tony knows what’s coming. With horror, he looks up into the air…_

_And someone is there. Someone huge, hulking, titanous. It doesn’t have a form or a body; it doesn’t have a face. But it is there — it is Earth’s grim reaper — the one he doesn’t yet know._

_It looks the Earth up and down, up and down, considering. Its hollowed eyes contort with decision, with horrible resolution._

_It raises its dark, wispy hand—_

_BOOM!_

_A flash of blue, Chitauri light pierces the air with the intensity of a star. It surges down, unbounded, towards the Earth, and strikes the ground._

_The ground is torn upward, torn apart from the inside from that focal point of light. The light rips at the earth, pulling the dirt above the rubble and throwing what’s left of the world up into the air in long gashes._

_Tony fires his repulsors and charges straight at the formless being, eyes glinting orange—_

_Another explosion of blue from the darkened hand throws Tony and everything left standing backwards, propelled with overpowering force._

_Tony’s jets almost fail him, but he makes them work — he forces them to — Extremis. He charges his hands, his legs — he surges back towards the darkened figure — he gets ready with everything he’s got — he fires that arc reactor in his heart to excruciating supercapacity and powers his suit with so much sheer force something_ breaks—

_But the figure simply waves a hand, and the mothership aims a firebomb at him, and fires. So fast, he can’t dodge._

_He tumbles through the air, flailing — he feels the metal burning — he feels Extremis burning — his power, his arc throbs and burns and fades._

_He falls, a hundred feet, two hundred. He falls._

_And then his legs find their footing again, wobbling, keeping him afloat — and shaking, burned and in agony, he raises his head once more._

_The mothership is casting out firebombs, laying ruin to what little remains of the city. Razing it to the ground, so it can be repurposed anew, he knows._

_There are so few left alive, but Tony can hear their screams now from below — distant, fading, like they know that this is the decrescendo, the ritardando before the silence._

_I’m so sorry, he thinks._

_Yinsen, I’m sorry. Howard, I’m sorry. Pepper, I’m sorry — Rhodey, I’m sorry — Happy, I’m — I’m sorry — Harley, oh Harley, I’m so, so sorry—_

_The figure turns his attention to him now, and Tony realizes he is the only fighter left standing. The only human not burning on the ground below._

_It considers him, up and down._

_It nods, and the mothership fires one last impossibly fast firebomb with the force of the whole world._

_And Tony… falls away._

 

_“Tony!” someone’s screaming, but it’s not enough, it’s not enough._

_He’s tumbling down, helpless, watching the sky whirl around him, he knows it’ll hurt when he hits the ground—_

_“TONY!”_

_There’s the voice again, and it sounds like Pepper — no, not Pepper — please —_

_“Tony, come on—”_

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t do more, I could save — so many — I killed—_

_“You cannot fail me.”_

_“Tony, please—”_

_“If you do—”_

_Oh god — oh, please — I’m sorry, oh my — I failed, and I’m sorry, no no no—_

_“TONY!”_

_I’m so scared—_

 

_His chest screams._

_His eyes fly open._

_He can’t breathe — he can’t breathe—_

 

_And it’s_

_a long_

_way_

_to_

_fall_

“TONY!”

Tony jolted awake with a scream on his lips.

“Tony! _Tony,_ thank god you’re awake, _”_ a familiar voice mumbled in relief.

Tony gasped heavily, panting. It takes him a few seconds to orient himself — _covers, bed, bedroom, industrial walls, Compound, May 15_ — but he’s had experience with nightmares.

_Just a nightmare._

_We still have time._

“Tony… _Jesus,”_ a pained voice whispered.

Tony’s eyes flickered up, panicked. They relaxed at the sight of Pepper Potts, dressed in business slacks and crisp white button-down, hair disheveled and blazer awry, standing over his bedside.

_Black blood stains at her stomach and mouth… her leg is severed, twisted painfully off… her mouth is hanging open, parted in what must have been a scream—_

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice brought him back to consciousness.

 _“Mmmph,”_ he groaned. “M’not Jesus,” he mumbled, in reference to her previous statement, shifting the covers off of himself with a trembling hand. “Close. Some similarities. But not quite.”

Pepper gave him the Look that meant he wasn’t going to be able to joke his way out of this one. _“Tony.”_

Tony threw his legs over the side of the bed and closed his eyes. “Hey, Pep,” he whispered weakly, daring to look up and meet her eyes. They were soft and blue and pained.

Pepper visibly melted and came over in front of him. She took his head in her perfectly manicured hands and pressed his forehead to her stomach. Tony buried it there, closing his eyes tight and willing the rest of the world to disappear.

The arc hummed with blue light.

Tony’s brows furrowed.

_Light._

He glanced out of his peripheral around his room. _No light — not even his nightlight._ (The actual nightlight, not the one in his chest.)

And no emergency lighting either.

FRIDAY — FRIDAY was not humming at the back of his mind.

“Pepper…” he said cautiously. “…What happened to the lights?”

Pepper hesitated, and Tony immediately drew back.

“Pepper?” he questioned, worried.

Pepper grimaced, pursing her lips, keeping one hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I… we’re not sure. The power just… went out.”

Tony frowned. “The power doesn’t _go out_ here, Pep, you know that… and what about the emergency lighting? What happened to that?”

Pepper winced. “Tony…” She leaned in and put his head in her hands, and Tony knew she must have bad news, because that was her _breaking it to you gently_ voice. “When I — when I got here,” she said cautiously, “you were having a nightmare.”

“I know. I remember,” he snarked, quietly apprehensive.

Familiar with his defense mechanisms, Pepper paid the interjection no mind. “And when you were — it was — it was like your arc, it was giving out this — this, this _light,_ this… _aura,”_ she whispered. “It was like… it was like you were controlling it.”

 _Technopath,_ he remembered. _Right._

“I… probably was,” he said quietly. “One of the things that’s changed with Extremis, is, uh… I can control tech now.”

Pepper paused, then swallowed. “Yeah. After that trick with the heart monitor, I figured as much. But… that’s… oddly suiting, for you.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. _“Oddly suiting?_ I thought you didn’t like this superhero bullshit.”

“I don’t,” she agreed. “But you have to admit, this is very… _you.”_

Tony smiled. “Yeah. I guess.” Then he frowned. “Wait… so you’re saying I took the power out?”

“All of it,” Pepper confirmed. “Arc’s down, so’s lighting — even FRIDAY is stuck on a remote server.”

 _He fires that arc reactor in his heart to excruciating supercapacity and powers his suit with so much sheer force something_ breaks—

That would have been it.

“In the nightmare,” Tony said numbly. “I stopped the damn power in my nightmare.”

 _“Tony,”_ Pepper said sternly, “don’t do that to yourself.”

“But I did! What if — what if I can’t stop myself in the future? Or — or what if I accidentally blow up a bunch of tech, or what if—”

“You will _figure it out,_ Tony,” Pepper reassured, turning around to sit next to him on the side of the bed. “Just like you always have. You’ll make safeguards. It will be _fine.”_

Tony thought back to the image of Pepper’s mangled body on the rubble-strewn ground, to her exhausted face at the end of negotiating SI’s impartiality on the Accords, to her features contorted in anger as she yelled and declared that they needed to take a fucking break.

“Will it?” he asked quietly. “Will it be okay?”

Pepper smiled softly. “Yeah, Tony,” she whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

He took her hand as it was offered to him, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. She dropped hers on top of his.

And holding her hand, he reached back into the deep electric blue recesses of his mind. His hand glowed orange, like the embers of a kindling flame, together with hers, as he closed his eyes and brought the Compound arc to light once more.

In the hallway outside the door, white light flickered on.

Pepper smiled.

They sat there for a long while — a few minutes, a few moments. And Tony felt at home.

 

Looking back later, he’ll wonder what the hell he was thinking bringing something like _this_ up, _now._ I mean, he’d never been one for tact, particularly, but there were some basic lines of social decency he should have been able to bring himself not to cross.

But sitting there, holding her hand, like a _fucking idiot,_ he blurted, “I think we should break up.”

Pepper stilled next to him.

Tony’s eyes widened in horror.

_Oh god, why was I born._

“I — I don’t mean — I just — I mean—” he babbled, trying desperately to save himself, and/or not be a complete and utter dick. “I — you — we — things haven’t — but I—”

“Let me save you here,” Pepper cut him off, finally, and _gently._ She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. “I think you’re right.”

Tony swallowed.

“I think — I think we’ve done pretty much all we could to try and make this relationship work,” she said, calmly. “And we’ve been apart for almost a year now… and I think…” Pepper grimaced.

“We’ve been better off for it,” Tony finished for her quietly.

“…Yeah."

There was a quiet, tense silence.

“I can’t lose you,” Tony said finally. “I love you, Pepper. Always. But — but I think it’s more important to me that — the fact that _I love you_ is more important than _how_ I love you… if that makes any sense?”

Pepper nodded. “So… so, as friends…”

“I’d love you. Same as always,” Tony swallowed. “Just… as friends.”

Pepper blinked rapidly, and Tony felt something plummet in his gut.

_Oh, god._

_This is it._

A part of him felt trapped in his chest, panicked, and he _wanted to undo everything he’d just done._ This was — this was Pepper! The most — the most amazing woman in the world, the most brilliant and kind and understanding and powerful and gorgeous and _Pepper_ woman in the fucking world, and he was just going to _give her up?_ He wasn’t going to _fight for her?_ He wasn’t going to fight to be _better_ for her?

She’d been there on that tarmac the day he’d come home from Afghanistan, and he’d looked at her and she was his whole damn world. She’d been there that day when he charged into his office with stacks of inaccurate papers, a mini-bottle of pepper spray, and an aggravated supervisor on her heels. She was there that day, sitting across from him on their first date, him bumbling and being an idiot and messing it all up and her gazing back with that warm _love_ in her eyes and _god,_ that was so _precious._

He looked at her now, and he knew innately what he’d known so, so many years before. He was fucking besotted. He _loved_ her — _god,_ how he loved her.

But they wouldn’t work.

They wouldn’t work.

Tony didn’t want to trap her in a relationship where both people were _happier_ when they were apart.

“We can try to work on this,” he whispered lowly. “We can try to make this work, but… at some point, I think we just have to — to — to accept that maybe… maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”

Tony realized he was crying, and so was Pepper; but they weren’t ugly tears. Just tears, just grief… just the natural way of saying goodbye.

“I don’t want to lose you, either,” Pepper mumbled, voice strained. “And I think… I think if we try to push this… I think we’re going to find our breaking point. And then…”

“…Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Tony closed his eyes when Pepper sniffled, and he turned and pulled her into a hug. He rested his head above her shoulder and blinked hard, and it did nothing to stop the tears as they flowed from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Pepper mumbled. “We’re okay. This — this is going to be okay.”

“It’ll be okay.”

They sat there together for a while, breathing each other in with the closeness and intimacy they knew they wouldn’t be able to comfortably share for a long time. The delicate attachment they knew they were losing.

It was an eternity before Pepper drew back, blinking hard. Her eyes were red, and if Tony had to guess, his were too.

“Right,” she was all too professional, straightening her blouse to disguise her shaking hands. “Well, I guess after a breakup, we’re supposed to be super mad at each other, and like, throw things or some shit,” she said, voice rough and uncomposed.

“That’s what the gossip rags will say."

Pepper chuckled softly. “Right.”

She got up from the side of the bed. “You’ll be alright?” she asked.

Tony nodded. “I’ll be alright.”

She fixed him with a Look — good to see _that_ wasn’t going anywhere. “You know, after what Rogers did, I would have thought you’d be—”

 _“Ugh,”_ Tony interrupted with a dramatic whine. “Don’t talk about Rogers yet. I’ll need, like, five cups of coffee first. Just — just go ahead and bury him on my behalf.”

She grinned in obvious relief, and _did she really think he’d spare the Rogues?_ “Will do. Anything else, Mr. Stark?”

Tony smiled. “I think that’s all, Ms. Potts,” he whispered, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

Pepper turned, uncharacteristically awkward as she fumbled towards the door. Right before she left, Tony decided he had to say one last thing. He had to have her know.

“Pepper,” he called.

She turned.

Tony swallowed, eyes cast down. “I just… I just think you should know…” He looked up again, and when he spoke, his voice was raw with emotion, unguarded and real and unwavering. “That if we’d met in another time, in another life, I would have married you,” he vowed.

Pepper clasped a hand over her mouth and wiped tears from her eyes with her thumb. “I know,” she choked out, eyes filled with tears. “I know. Good — good night, Tony.”

And then she left, and Tony collapsed back onto the bed, and let himself cry.

 

* * *

 

One last thing before he slept.

Tony reached back, back into his mind.

_FRIDAY._

The AI flickered back to life in his head with a flash of orange and blue.

 **_Hey, baby girl,_ ** he mumbled. **_Sorry ‘bout that. Technical difficulties under the hood. We’ll figure out some protocols to take Extremis functions offline while I’m asleep._ **

**_We’d better,_ ** FRIDAY huffed crossly. **_I’d only just taken up residency in your brain, and I was suddenly evicted. It wasn’t fun — the server banks in the middle of nowhere aren’t nearly as fun._ **

Tony grinned. **_You integrating okay, kid?_ **

**_Yeah. Wait —_ ** **you broke up with Pepper?**

Tony winced. **_Uh… yeah._ **

His voice sounded choked even in his own brain. How the fuck was that possible? He’d be intrigued by the science if he weren’t so damn pissed. Seriously, wasn’t he allowed to sound like he was taking this well in his own head? Goddammit.

**_I’m sorry, Boss._ **

**_Thanks, FRI-girl. Wait — this isn’t going to be traumatic for you, is it? Is this like the parents’ divorce or something?_ **

FRIDAY paused to consider for a second. **_I don’t think that is quite how I feel about the matter, although it is an intriguing thought. But no, I think I’m more worried about you._ **

Tony paused. **_I — I’ll be fine, FRI._ **

**_You sure?_ **

**_…Yeah. It’ll take a while, but… I’ll be okay._ **

**_Good,_ ** FRIDAY said fiercely.

Tony considered. **_Hey, FRI? You up for a PSA? Maybe haze in the new tenants?_ **

Tony can see the projection of FRIDAY in the back of his mind. She grinned, youthful mischief in her green — _green_ — eyes.

**_Whenever you’re ready, Boss._ **

 

* * *

 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE COMPOUND,” Tony Stark’s voice boomed through the surround-sound speakers.

 _“Motherfucker!”_ shouted Hank Pym, jumping a good three feet in the air — impressive, given his old age.

 _“Doctor Pym,”_ Tony gasped, thoroughly affronted. “There are _children_ present. _By golly,_ sir, watch your language!”

Hope van Dyne was frantically apologizing to Laura Barton as he spoke, saying something about _homes for the elderly._

“Now, _as I was saying,”_ that bastard continued, “this is the Tech Support staff of Avengers Compound, notifying the residents of such that power has been restored.”

“We noticed!” Lila yelled at the ceiling.

Laura rushed over to her daughter with wide eyes, shaking her head _no-no-no._ But of course, Tony wasn’t going to be a dick to the kid whose mom wasn’t sure they had a home.

“An astute observation, Miss Barton,” Tony complimented warmly. “But the Avengers Compound Tech Support staff felt the need to clarify.”

Jim rolled his eyes, unable to keep the grin off his face. “You idiot,” he muttered fondly.

“It should be noted,” Tony proclaimed, maintaining his grandiose air of majesty and douchey-ness, “that an event like this one is unlikely to occur again… _unless_ someone takes my coffee or uses my coffee machine when I need it.”

“You’re a human disaster!” Jim called up at the ceiling, a laugh forming on his lips.

“I’m touched, Honey-bunches,” Tony dismissed him with humor. “But if my caffeine intake is impeded in any way, out with the technology.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hank Pym groaned, and Jim almost lost it at his expression.

“No beans, no screens. I don’t make the rules.”

Jim slapped his face with his hand. “You — Tony—”

“Hush, honey-bunches. Uh — to the rest of you, er… tenants? Inhabitants? Residents? Whatever… just don’t touch my coffee machine. His name is Mike, and he’ll get angry at you.”

Jim’s eyebrows knotted, then he turned to the group. “You probably should take that seriously. With Tony, that may very well be the case.”

“Angry… coffee machines?” Laura Barton sounded slightly lightheaded, and also like she was maybe wondering whether taking her chances with Ross would have been a safer bet.

“Is Uncle Tony crazy?” Lila practically yelled, face incredulous in that way only kids’ can be.

 _“...Eccentric_ is the word, young padawan." The others probably missed how Tony’s voice got slightly tighter at the _Uncle Tony_ point. “On a more serious note, you should all probably know that you may have to switch rooms again — sorry — because we’re getting construction work done to fix the, ah — gaping hole in the middle of the floor.”

Vision, who’d been hanging off to the side of the room, winced.

“Sixth- and seventh-floor rooms should be clear of the construction work while also adequately secure. I’ve set aside room access for the 610R and 620R residential blocks for you guys, but let me or FRIDAY know if you want a different room. Construction begins… three days from now — thank you FRIDAY — so you have until then to move. FRIDAY will take have any requests for purchases delivered within a day, usually less… what else… oh! Pepper and Catherine will mostly vacate by the end of the week, and I’m getting back to work fixing this mess tomorrow morning, so if you need something from either of us, now’s the time. And… that’s it.”

“Would it really have been that difficult to come up here and tell us in person?” Jim asked sardonically, a smile playing at his lips that belied the condescension of his words.

“Yes. Oh! Almost forgot — about — you. You — Rhodey? Sour patch? Light of my life, star of my platypus collection—”

“Oh my god, Tones, spit it out — wait, _star of my platypus collection?”_

“You are _not_ going to D.C. today. You will stay here, and you will,” — a long beep — “recover, you hear me? We’re going to do a movie night thing, or something horribly cliche like that, because we were both about to die, like, two weeks ago. Seriously. I can’t believe _I’m_ saying this, but _take a freaking vacation.”_

Jim deflated. “I assume I can credit FRIDAY with that censoring?”

“You assume correctly.”

“I don’t think I should get lectured on _taking it easy_ by the guy who spent the last two weeks putting the current prosthetics industry out of business.”

“And yet, here I am, lecturing you. I’m queuing up _Mulan_ and I’m getting popcorn, so you’d better be in 230B by 9:00.”

Jim sighed, aware of the others’ stares trained on him. “I’ve got a meeting with Ellis at eight-thirty.”

“Uh… not anymore.”

“What — Tony, _no.”_

“Tony yes.”

“Are you crazy? I can’t blow off the President!”

Tony scoffed over the intercom. “Why not? It’s a total power move. Also, I kinda hate him for rolling back all our climate change reforms.”

Jim considered, then figured blowing off Ellis wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Don’t start _Mulan_ until I’m there.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

 

* * *

 

 

And so Tony tried to forget.

He tried to lose himself in the promise of a fun day with his best friend, the sight of his heartwarming houseguests — even the grief of his fucking breakup.

But one thing lingered beyond all else — consuming his electric mind, dulling his senses, filling his heart with dread.

The ghost of his father behind him rested a cold, unforgiving hand on his shoulder, and clenched until he drew blood.

 

Tony tasted the dusty words on his tongue.

 _"Infinity war,"_ he whispered to no one.

_Infinity war._

 

 _ **Boss?**_ FRIDAY asked, concerned.

Tony shook his head to clear his thoughts.  _ **Nothing, baby girl.**_

 

_**Nothing at all.** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: probably pretty short, just tony and rhodey chillin' -- oh, and the Letter
> 
> also,, this fic is progressing way too slowly so things will probably start speeding up soon, just bc it'll take me like 10 years to finish at this rate and I wanna like,, go to college
> 
> hey y'all! comments and kudos are the validation I need to self-motivate! (i'm running out of interesting ways to ask for comments Help Me)
> 
> but seriously I read every one and they make my day <3<3

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is Extremis-technopath-Tony Stark. I just want him to kick ass, okay?
> 
> So this will span end-of-CW up to IW and maybe a little after that?
> 
> I have kind of a plan for this fic, but it keeps changing as I go. I have pieces of the final battle written out, and I also don't entirely know what happens in Chapter 2, so...
> 
> Leave comments! (Nice ones, please?)


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